


Never Gon'be President Now

by Gabriellekong



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Friends to Lovers, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Politics, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26027371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriellekong/pseuds/Gabriellekong
Summary: After all these years, the Democratic-Republicans are still convinced that the Reynolds Pamphlet is used to cover up some scandal and they might be half correct. In fact, it’s a story made up to cover up an affair with another affair.It was summer in 1790, and Alexander’s by himself. We will let him tell it.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/George Washington, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison
Comments: 32
Kudos: 82





	1. Best of Wives and Best of Women

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration started with a conspiracy theory in my mind and it seems totally make sense though it’s completely impossible to be the real history.  
> My original plan was to translate my old work from Chinese to English, and now I’m going to say I write a new story based on my old work.  
> There’ll be a lot of history from Chernow’s book, so sorry if I couldn’t explain it clearly and it becomes a mess.  
> It’s not actually Alexander telling the whole story, so sorry that I write from different characters’ points of view if it bothers you. I wrote the original version without realizing what’s wrong about it and there isn’t much I can do to change that now.

Alexander had a dream, in which he was still the Treasury Secretary, writing like he was running out of time as he always does. It was something about the tax, which he can’t quite remember. Then there was a shadow cast on the desk from the direction of the door, blocking the sunlight. He didn’t even need to guess who that large figure belonged to judging by the way it loomed in front of the desk. So he didn’t bother to look up when he muttered something like ‘See you tomorrow, George’, and went back to his work. It was late and it was time for everyone else to go back home, but of course not for him.

Unexpectedly, the shadow disappeared without a response. Although the dream was quite a blur, Alexander realized instinctively that something was wrong. He popped up his head, but the dream was still like in fog. In his dream, he thought maybe it was because of his eyes, which were clearly tired after staring at the parchments for too long. He rubbed his eyes, and when he managed to see the hallway clearly, it was all empty in the sunset.

No, it couldn’t be him. Somehow in the dream, Alexander recalled that he was dead, but in the meantime, Alexander was so sure about that familiar shadow. It must be him, his General, his President, his... But then again, it couldn’t be him. 

When Alexander wakes up, he finds himself sitting in his own house, at his own desk, all alone. He must have fallen asleep while writing. It’s dark outside now. Alexander remembers he got out of bed because something came to his mind that he needed to write down immediately. Alexander takes a look at the parchment on his desk, and it’s nearly finished. He remembers he had some difficulty figuring out how to end it.

He knows that he’s getting a little old, which means that he gets tired more easily for the obvious reason that he’s no longer the young soldier who never knew when to rest. He also knows that his memory is getting worse and worse, and it’s not usual for him to remember a dream so well. It’s almost all too real to him...

Yet still, it’s a dream, and it disappears as suddenly as it appears without a trace to be found.

A wind coming out of nowhere blows all the parchment on the desk all over the floor. It’s a mess, but he lost himself in thoughts while staring at it. It’s quiet in the dark and it’s a special night tonight, so he’s legitimately allowed to indulge himself with some melancholy moments. The parchment flying around feels like what he has done with his whole life. He has always wanted to build something that’s gonna outlive him, but as it turns out, his reputation and his legacy might be blown away like the dust in the wind, ruined and forgotten. Maybe it’s all his fault, as someone told him a long time ago.

The door clicks open and Eliza comes in, in her blue night skirt. Alexander always thinks Eliza looks amazing in blue under the moonlight, and her age has never changed that.

“It’s late, Alexander. Come back to bed.” She yawns as she bends over to pick up the parchment on the floor.

“Sorry, I just need to write something down. Besides, I have a meeting out of town. It’s a long way to go, and I have to set off early to be there on time at dawn.”

Eliza yawns again, and Alexander thinks she’s too sleepy to think about why he would have a meeting out of town at dawn. But then again, she rarely asks about his work. There’s a sort of trust that they’ve built after all these years, after what they’ve been through. Eliza simply  _knows_ that he won’t cheat on her again even just for the sake of Philip. They finally have some time to spend together without a war or public service and Alexander will never ever dare to destroy it again.

“Why do you write like you’re running out of time?” She smiles faintly, with her eyes half-closed. She’s gorgeous, even when she has just climbed out of bed.

Alexander laughs along with her. It’s a joke between them, but...this time, Alexander’s afraid, it might be more than a joke. _No,_ he chastises himself, _he’ll be fine tomorrow. Nothing will happen to him. He won’t do such a thing to Eliza._ _But you will,_ the other voice says in his mind, _if you insist on the duel._

Eliza steps forward and puts the parchment on the desk. She comes behind the desk and hugs Alexander in her arms. Alexander covers the parchment with his sleeve instinctively, even though there’s no need clearly. If she wants to see the contents, she would have seen them when she picked them up, and she would find out that was his last words to her.

She pats his shoulders and when she tries to step away, Alexander grabs her hand and kisses it softly.

“Hey, you are the best of wives and best of women.” It’s something he would love to tell her in her face instead of just letting her read it in the letter after his death.

Eliza doesn’t smile this time, but he can see the way her eyes are evading and her face blushes a little bit though she’s trying her best to hide it. After all these years, she still falls defenseless under his sweet words, even after she told him she realized they were all lies. They have never been lies, but Alexander made them into lies by betraying them.

Eliza’s sleepy eyes light up when something occurs to her. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. When you were working this afternoon, Maria came by. Sorry, I didn’t want to bother you.” 

“Who?” Of course, he knew Maria came, but he pretended he didn’t hear it and let Eliza do whatever she wanted. Then it became weird. They talked and talked and talked, for a fucking afternoon. They laughed sometimes and lowered their voices sometimes, but Alexander never got to hear what they were talking about clearly. It looked like they’d found each other a good company. Alexander guesses they could’ve been talking about him. Aren’t women always talking about this kind of stuff? Husbands, boyfriends, ex-boyfriends.

Still, it’s awkward. He doesn’t want to talk about Maria with his wife in the middle of the night. Especially on the possibly last night of his life, with his last words to his wife covered under his sleeve, afraid to be caught. Besides, there’s something about Maria he really, really doesn’t want Eliza to know.

“Maria Reynolds. Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten her name.”

“Uh...sure. Why did she come here?” Calm down, Alexander tells himself. It’s probably nothing.

“She wants some...help. Look, I know what they’ve been doing to you. Blackmail, this kind of stuff. So I just gave her the money.”

“You just gave her?” Not a surprise after the chat this afternoon.

“What’s wrong? You even gave Burr thousands of dollars weeks ago. I know there must be something going on between you two.”

“Burr...That’s totally a different thing.” At least he didn’t know Burr was going to challenge him to a duel when he lent the money.

“Maria, well, she must have had a hard time these years. She looked helpless, ragged and starving, and she told me she had a divorce or something. I’ve always been curious about what happened to her after your ridiculous pamphlet. Don’t you think she’s also a victim? You humiliated her, describing her as a whore, and I knew you well enough to know she’s more than that.”

“Okay, I see your point. I admit it. I’ve exaggerated it in some way.” It’s not just an exaggeration. He basically made the whole thing up, but Eliza doesn’t need to know that.

“What intrigued me was why she came here. I mean, all the secrets between you two were published, and frankly speaking, there’s nothing that can make the situation worse. What does she still have to blackmail you? She found us here, the Grange, so she must have intended this, walking around and asking people about it. She must be convinced that she could get some help here.”

“So...” Alexander is getting upset now.

“So I think you still got something hidden behind the affair.”

“Uh-huh. That’s a completely baseless accusation.” Actually inside, Alexander thinks Eliza is smart.

“Hold on. The story hasn’t ended yet. So I invited her to come in, had a cup of tea, and she told me everything.”

“What?” Alexander nearly falls out of his chair on hearing that.

“See? I knew it! I knew there  _was_ something.”

“Ha, so it’s a trap. You’ve got me, but I won’t tell you anything. Not tonight.”

“Relax,” Eliza chuckles. “She didn’t tell me much. She only said that the affair is just a story made up to cover some scandal. But, if you don’t tell me the truth, I can only imagine it for myself. Maybe...it’s about embezzlement? Just like what the Republicans said?”

Alexander groans. “Stop it. Don’t do this to me. I’m fuckin tired of hearing the word embezzlement. I’ll tell you the truth tomorrow, I swear, after I come back from the meeting. I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

“You better keep your promise, or I’m going to tell Jefferson all your secrets,” she jokes.

“I promise,” he says before she goes.

So this is how Alexander will finish his letter. When he looks back on the most important events in his life to find out what he’s going to write down in his last words to his wife, he realizes it’s not his legacy, his children, or whatever he’s proud of, but his confession. 

He explains it briefly and finds it not as complicated as he originally thought, especially considering that Eliza certainly won’t be interested in the details. Something like, Mr. Reynolds saw things that he shouldn’t have seen one day, so Mrs. Reynolds and Alexander put on a show to misguide him, giving him some money to make him believe it’s an affair followed by blackmail. Alexander admits that the thing kind of got out of control later, but what’s done is done and Mr. Reynolds would never know what a  _huge_ scandal it was, neither would the Republicans. Basically, that’s what happened, but in the meantime, he knows he could tell a much better story if he were given the chance. So the memory floods in.

1789.

It’s the day George Washington, the new president-elect of the United States, arrives in New York City, several days before his inauguration. Governor George Clinton holds a dinner for him. 

It’s quite awkward for Alexander. Let’s just say, the host of tonight isn’t a good friend of his. They’ve been smacking each other in the press over a year, from the approval of the Constitution to the latest governor election, and it isn’t pretty at all. They’ve attacked each other with their personal affairs, they slandered and they abused, and both of them gave up keeping it civil a long time ago. How could they still sit in one room peacefully, acting like they’ve never tried to kill each other? Well, the awkwardness is mainly on Alexander’s part. He, the hero of New York City who pushed through the Constitution in this state successfully, swore to do everything he could to oust Clinton as governor, and...Clinton won the election with a landslide. 

Clinton must have done it on purpose, Alexander assumes, inviting him to the dinner attended by all the local public figures, to humiliate in front of them. And most importantly, Alexander can’t turn it down. Because the dinner is about Washington, and it is a historic moment that he simply can’t miss it.

As for Washington, well, that’s completely another story. Clinton is convinced that Washington considers him as a friend, and from what Alexander has heard, they’re indeed pretty close to some degree. Alexander thinks he may never figure out how Washington gets along with this guy, or should he say, puts up with this guy. Well at least, George Clinton is the governor of one of the largest states in this new nation. Anyway, this is the first time Alexander has ever seen these two powerful figures together in the same room, so guess he may find out the answer tonight.

The guests are here and the dinner begins, and people toast to the union and the President after the governor’s speech. Alexander gets it, what our governor is trying to do here. Grabbing the spotlight and setting the pace of conversations all across the table, Clinton is not only making sure he’s the host of tonight but the host of New York State. He’s been in office as the governor for 12 years, way back to the start of the revolution, so it’s not as horrible as it sounds for him to call the governorship his own property. What is disturbing is that he is showing it off to Washington, the head of the federal government. He’s kind of saying, ‘Yeah, you may be the President of the United States, but remember where you are, you will work and live right in my territory.’ 

Washington hasn’t been showing anything so far, whether annoyance or intimacy. The expression on his face is unreadable. He nods along and agrees with Clinton’s words, without much of a smile on his face. Washington isn’t the kind of man you often see smiling anyway, so him not smiling might also mean ‘I remember you as a good buddy of mine and I’m glad to talk with you.’ Who knows? Clinton seems to take it as a yes, from the way he keeps ranting about the new Federal Hall renovated from the old City Hall, the welcome ceremony held this morning, and especially the inauguration, the grand ceremony in several days that he’s been busy preparing for. Meanwhile, Alexander is like, ‘Wow, you should be careful, no one ends well treating Washington as an idiot.’

Alexander knows when to be a well-behaved bystander. Given that even Washington plays along with Clinton’s game, there’s no right for Alexander to make a fuss about it. Besides, it has been a bit awkward between Washington and him, too (Alexander has been wondering recently whether it’s just a coincidence or it’s him born with the gift to ruin his relationships with others every time). 

There are all kinds of rumors about his relationship with the General, but one thing is for sure – People know about the  _incident_ right before the end of the war. People know that it was not just some small quarrel, and the fight between them was quite serious. People realized, during all these years they had worked together, they actually didn’t get along very well personally. That offended certain groups of people in this country, those who regarded Washington as their hero, or some kind of god, if they might say so, and that’s a lot of people. Plus, Washington was famous for his august and stern image, so those people had every right to be angry when a bastard, orphan, immigrant, aide-de-camp of his own dared to challenge their General, threatening to quit the job if not appointed as a commander. But Alexander knows the truth is much simpler. He said something he shouldn’t have. Neither Washington nor he has ever mentioned that again, so they just pretend everything is fine and they’ve both moved on. Still, Alexander knows it is still right there between them, and pretending it’s gone isn’t going to fix the problem. Well, they can at least pretend one more night.

At a dinner like this in New York, Alexander is definitely the center of the spotlight, grabbing everyone’s attention with his well-known eloquence and his perfect appearance, but apparently not tonight, which is immediately noticed by Clinton. The famous Alexander Hamilton being surprisingly quiet tonight is exactly what he wants, which is the respect and obedience from the opposition in his domain to show his power and authority. Clinton must be thinking, ‘our respectable President is under my control now, no matter how close you two were or how much you still hate each other now.’

From time to time, when Washington glances around the room, his eyes meet with Alexander’s. While Alexander tries to look away at once, Washington holds his gaze for a second before looking back at Clinton, pretending to be laughing along with Clinton’s bad jokes. It’s a game, now Alexander realizes. The conversation is boring and Washington is responding drily, clearly absent-minded, but seems more interested in this little game with Alexander. Luckily, what makes this game more fun is that they’ve spent so many years together that they can get what each other wants to say through eye contact.

‘What are you doing at the remotest corner of the table?’ Washington asks.

Alexander lowers his eyes and takes a sip of the expensive wine provided by the governor. ‘The wine is pretty good, isn’t it?’

‘You know exactly what I’m talking about, so don’t change the topic.’ He’s a bit agitated. ‘You asked me to run for the presidency and here I am, yet what are you doing right there?’

Number one, Alexander didn’t  _ask_ him, merely made a suggestion, speaking out Washington’s own mind for him. Number two, even if he had, it has nothing to do with where he sits at this dinner. But at the same time, he perfectly understands how Washington must be feeling right now. Lonely, fidget and upset, to sit there at the head of the table, as well as the whole country, being watched closely by so many people, and the history itself. Alexander knows Washington is far less confident or self-control than he appears to be. In fact, he gets nervous easily sometimes and he’s often irritable, except that he hardly ever shows it. He has managed to hide behind that mask of detachment and nonchalance after all these years of practice, while others constantly overwhelm him with endless compliments about his dignity and elegance. No one knows or understands what’s actually going on behind the mask he puts on, what he’s thinking about and how he feels when shouldering so much responsibility, and Alexander doubts if he’ll ever get the privilege to have a peek at it.

‘Well, what do you think I’m doing right here? Have fun with your good old buddy George Clinton.’ Alexander shows it by taking a glance at Clinton.

On seeing this, Washington bites his lip – Wow, that must be the first  _real_ expression on his noble face tonight – and looks down at his plate, contemplating, before looking up and he...gives a glimmer of a smile, which someone will definitely miss if not paying attention. It means, ‘Watch this.’ 

“Governor Clinton, everyone, may I have a minute? I have an announcement to make.”

Everyone falls silent at once and waits. This is what Washington does, the way he dominates a room even if he’s merely a guest. The expression on Clinton’s face should be described as...confusion, maybe a little excitement? Alexander finds himself suddenly quite curious about what’s going on in Clinton’s head, what he’s expecting. Well, Alexander himself has no clue what Washington is going to say at all.

“While I really appreciate the hospitality of our well-beloved governor, Clinton, also an old friend of mine,” Washington says and the smug grin on Clinton’s face is quite funny, “I think this is a good opportunity to announce a decision of mine. Many of you are probably aware that I’ve been considering the nominations of my cabinet, and as the most powerful position in the cabinet, I’ve put a lot of thoughts into the appointment of Treasury Secretary.”

The room falls even quieter than it was if it’s possible at all, except the fire cracking in the background. Chancellor Robert R. Livingston, as Alexander notices, is also here, who has been competing for the job. Everyone has heard, more or less, that he’s been pulling strings for it recently, and coming from a powerful family, with a respectable last name, he might actually have a good chance. He is also one of the many people being  _awkward_ with Alexander recently (Alexander finds the pattern now, and it's definitely not a coincidence). He was still a good ally in local politics not long ago, until Alexander did something stupid (again) quite recently and he’s on Clinton’s team now.

After a short pause, Washington continues. “I think I might need to stress that I’m just doing the best I can to get the people that I need, so there’s no need to take it personally. I’m only judging by their competence.”

Alexander is getting a bit nervous now, if not earlier. He simply doesn’t know what to think about all this, what he should expect or what he shouldn’t expect.

“Anyway, I’ve found only one person qualified. Alexander Hamilton, would you be my Treasure Secretary?”

Years later, when Alexander recalls that night, he truly hopes he had spared his attention to have a look at the way smile faded on Clinton’s face. What a shame. Putting that aside, the night has been as perfect as it could be, with the dreamlike candlelight, people’s gasps out of surprise, and Washington’s gaze at him like he’s the most precious jewelry in the world. Like a dream that you can’t quite place.

***

1790.

Aaron finds Hamilton at the doorstep of Federal Hall, surrounded by people, mostly speculators and securities dealers, who are hanging on every word Hamilton says and digging any implication they can out of his words, trying to pry into his financial plan.

“Sorry, there’s nothing I can say about the plan,” Hamilton tries to speak in the noise of the crowd.

Isn’t it always like that? Aaron thinks. Wherever Hamilton goes, there are always a bunch of people following, clustering around him. He will catch everyone’s attention with his irresistible charisma, as if every single word that comes out of that mouth is full of wisdom, making others volunteer to lick his feet in awe. Also, the visitors’ gallery is packed with pretty ladies, who gaze at Hamilton with admiration, giggling, apparently waiting for Hamilton’s speech at Congress today. It’s such a common phenomenon that you can tell if Hamilton is here for Congress today simply by looking at the ladies outside.

Aaron thinks he’s familiar with some of the ladies, of which he recognizes several who come from the wealthiest families in New York State. 

There’re always rumors about Hamilton, who never misses one dinner party with good wine in New York, flirting with different ladies each time. To be honest, it’s not just ladies who are crazy about him. Hamilton also has a lot of other companions, which is something we all know but no one talks about. It’s like Hamilton will never be tired of flirting and seducing. Half of the city is obsessed with him, trying to figure out his mind,  _is it a YES or NO, is it JUST flirting, or is it actually something?_ We may never know it.

After being his friend for all these years, Aaron perfectly understands it won’t change anything even if he spoke out his feelings for Hamilton like those dumb asses being rejected explicitly. He knows that under no circumstances may Hamilton be tired of exerting his charm, but flirting is just flirting. His eyes wander among the crowd of admirers around him, but he never holds his gaze at anybody. As far as Aaron knows, Hamilton has been faithfulto Eliza so far .

Maybe it’s just that he’s waiting for someone. Aaron has thought about the possibility. Admirers who would like to do everything for you can be quite an asset in politics, and Aaron knows Hamilton is smart enough to understand that, especially considering what Aaron heard about Hamilton back then in the army. So either Hamilton is playing innocent, which seems silly to Aaron, or he has something else in mind.

But then again, it’s probably just nothing. It’s more likely that all the flirting is just Hamilton showing off himself, like some silly girls showing off their youth or their jewelry, and enjoying himself by making everybody fall at his feet. God knows Hamilton practically lives on those flashy compliments, like the air he needs to breathe. Maybe it has something to do with his childhood, Aaron thinks, such as a lack of safety.

Aaron pushes his way through the crowd, then a pat on Hamilton’s shoulder.

“Mister Secretary.”

Hamilton turns around and sees Aaron before he grins to his old friend. 

“Mister Burr, Sir.”

“Have you heard the news about Jefferson? Thomas Jefferson? He’s back and he’s going to come to the cabinet meeting today.”

“Sure. Anything I should worry about?”

“I’ve heard there will be a lot of disagreements between you two, and a powerful enemy he will be.”

Hamilton shrugs. “Well, I know how he glorifies the French Revolution as a sequel to ours.”

“He’s also an old friend of Madison, you know,” Aaron says after a beat.

“Madison is also an old friend of mine,” Hamilton mutters, pouting.

“Well, one thing is for sure, you are so damn good at turning your old friends into enemies.”

“Huh, trust me. I’m fully aware of that.”

“So what’s the thing about Madison and you...” 

Aaron is cut short by a ruckus that breaks out in the near distance. People look over and gather over there, and soon the crowd around Hamilton vanishes. Hamilton rises on his tiptoes, looks over and widens his eyes.

Some guy dressed in a purple coat comes down from a coach. Fancy fabric and fashionable style from France, it’s something Hamilton may know about. The man has an air of aristocratic slackness in his movements when he comes down the coach surrounded by the crowd like a king receiving his subjects. The man behind him, in contrast, is dressed in grey, keeping a low profile with a serious look.

“Well, you and Jefferson can share some ideas about clothing at least,” Aaron says, without a second thought.

“At least I pay for my clothes with my own work.” Hamilton says after a while, “Angelica has told me a lot about him. Yeah, Angelica had a thing with Jefferson. Isn’t it amazing? I mean, can you imagine that? Sorry man, I know you were rejected by her several years back, but Angelica also rejected Jefferson afterward, kind of.”

“So...Angelica likes him? She thinks he’s an interesting person? That’s rare.” By looking at the guy smiling like an idiot in the middle of a crowd, Aaron finds it hard indeed to believe that Jefferson could ever be Angelica’s type.

“I think she was trying to keep her comments objective. You know what I am saying. She told me about his ladies, mistresses, especially a girl called Sally. Sally Hemings, as I recall? From a certain point of view, he  _is_ interesting.”

“You don't mean it in a good way , I suppose?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah, but...Lafayette said he was also a friend of Jefferson. They were both in France, and Jefferson helped him draft the Declaration. In Lafayette’s letter, he spoke pretty well of him, full of passion, a great sense of humor, the kind of person Lafayette likes being with.”

“Okay, whatever, good luck with him.”

“Let’s see how it goes.”

***

After enjoying himself in France for five years, Thomas was planning to go back home, continuing his carefree life, before being dragged into a political abyss, reluctantly. He’s not a fan of the so-called federal government, or the Constitution. That was before he came to New York. He guesses it is this vibrant city that changes his thoughts – a city full of opportunities lights up his ambition and passion, just like the French Revolution, making him want to do something in this brand new world.

“I can’t believe that we are free.” He’s sitting in his coach, on his way to the cabinet meeting, with Madison sitting by his side.

“What do you mean by that?”

“The city is the same as it was before the war! Look, ladies with fancy clothes and fancy hats, luxuries in the shop windows, and pot-bellied merchants and speculators walking across the streets. God, even the air smells British.”

His old friend sounds a bit awkward. “Uh...I didn’t take notice. I think this city is great. I like it, except it’s too far from home. I wish I could move the capital to Virginia one day.”

“You never miss one meeting in Congress, so it must be especially frustrating for you, huh?” That’s one of the things Thomas likes about Madison, dedication. “So what did I miss? How did the city get all the British stuff back?”

“Well, thanks to Hamilton...”

“Hamilton?” Sounds familiar to Thomas.

“Alexander Hamilton, I’ve told you about him. The guy who wrote  _The Federalist Papers_ with me.”

“Oh, him. The kid got some talent.”

“Now he’s our Treasury Secretary,” Madison explains, “with his ridiculous financial plan, letting Virginia pay the debts of New York. We have to stop him. Congress will vote next week.”

“I need to stand up for the South.” That’s it. That’s what Thomas is going to do with his passion.

“Right. In fact, this is what I was planning to tell you before the meeting. You need to be the voice of the South, expose the truth, let the people know the fact that Hamilton’s plan is against their interests, show them there are disagreements inside the government, and...”

“And if I’m the one who can stand up for them, expose the conspiracy of the Treasury, and win the  _war_ against the rich New York merchants, I will be their hero.”

There is a bit of excitement in the voice of his old friend, which doesn't happen very often. “Yep, plus a bit of exaggeration, a bit of idealism, and a bit of demagogy, our plan will do great. Remember, you have to start it from today, the first meeting, in order to make your stand clear. You are against all kinds of government power abuse, government size expansion, a standing army...”

“Wait, we’re against the establishment of a standing army now?”

“Yeah, we are...”

“And you mean I’m going to get out of the coach, and say, hi, Mr. Hamilton, I’m Jefferson, and I’m going to kick your ass out of the government. Nah, I’m not going to do this.” Suddenly, out of nowhere, it occurs to him why the name Hamilton sounds familiar to him. “I remember it now. He’s also the husband of Angelica’s sister. She said in her letter that she had introduced me to him, because she wished we could be friends. I couldn’t do that to her.”

“Angelica? Who’s Angelica? Oh, I guess it’s one of your whores in France.”

“What? No! Never call her like that. She’ll eat you alive. You know what? You’re just angry, and I’m not talking with you when you’re angry.” Even if Thomas doesn’t even know Madison has any reason to be angry, or maybe... jealous.

“No, no, I think this is great. You can use it as an excuse to be friends with him. You’ll find him as a loudmouth bother. He always speaks out whatever is in his mind, and he never hides his thoughts. He’ll take you as his friend and tell you everything.”

“Wow, that’s interesting.”

“Mr. Jefferson? Alexander Hamilton.”

The little guy makes his way through the crowd, and shakes hands with Thomas warmly, with a big smile on his face. The first thing Thomas realized is that, fuck, Angelica didn’t mention that he was so cute. Thomas realizes now why Angelica got so enthusiastic about making them friends. Thomas finds himself staring at Hamilton’s long eyelashes and rosy cheeks. Thomas’s eyes are wandering along Hamilton’s body now. Stop it. Thomas reminds himself, what might be common in Paris is a felony in America.

“Hamilton, I’ve heard about you. Angelica said a lot about you.”

Thomas sees the way Hamilton’s eyes brighten up on mentioning Angelica. There’s definitely something between these two.

“What did she say?”

“A lot of good things. Brilliant, talented, ambitious, blah blah blah. I think she really likes you.”

“Uh-huh. As I recall, Lafayette is also a friend of yours?”

Jesus. Thomas loves the way Hamilton blinks at him when he talks, with a playful grin.

“Yeah, of course. A nice guy. Isn’t it amazing, the people we know happen to know each other. I wonder why we have never met before.”

“Well, we are going to work together now. I guess it will make that up.”

“I’m looking forward to our partnership,” Thomas says.

“Me too. You know, we’re going to talk about my financial plan at the meeting today, and I think you’d like to know about it ahead of time. I believe the federal government should assume state debt...”

Madison was right about Hamilton, Thomas thinks. Hamilton really likes to spill out his thoughts and he never stops talking. What surprises Thomas is how easy it is to get Hamilton’s trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dinner party was real, and Jefferson and Hamilton were sort of friends indeed at first. For the rest, it’s just fictional, just for fun, especially the part Madison being Lady Macbeth.


	2. Cabinet Battle #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The appearance of Jefferson breaks some balance that once existed between the predators. While everyone is readjusting their strategies in this hunting game, the prey himself is still absorbed in his financial plan.

The conversation with Jefferson goes...not bad, Alexander thinks. They talk about all kinds of stuff, the weather, the food, and a lot about clothes. But basically, it’s about politics, because after all, they’re both politicians.

When they go side by side into the meeting room, Alexander sees Washington beckon him over with a nod. Washington is someone who never bothers to speak a single word to make his order clear. 

Alexander selects a chair in front of Washington’s desk and sits down.

“I see you and Jefferson get along pretty well.” Washington looks up from the desk piled with books and parchment and looks at Hamilton over the rim of his glasses.

“Yeah, he’s fun,” Alexander says, shifting in his chair and trying to get into a comfortable position. “What’s the problem here?”

“I’m just saying that...” Washington seems a little nervous about what he has to say. He puts down the quill in his hand on the table and takes off his glasses. “Be careful about him.” 

Alexander raises an eyebrow. Washington may pretend to be casual as he always does, but Alexander sees through it. He can sense something weird in his tone.

“I thought you were the one who chose him as one of your cabinet members.”

Washington nods. “I did, and I did it because I want opinions from different sides in my cabinet. That doesn’t mean you can trust someone you’ve just met ten minutes ago.”

“If you mean he would disagree with my opinions, I can assure you, Mr. President, I’ve heard a lot about it.”

“Well, it’s just my suggestion for you. Take it or leave it.” Washington looks back at the piles of parchment on his desk. “I worry about you,” he adds abruptly after a while.

“You worry about me?” What is that supposed to mean? Alexander is confused. Whatever. He’s not about to waste his time wondering what’s wrong with his president this morning. “So, the issue on the table today focuses on the assumption bill, right?”

Washington picks up the quill and puts his glasses back on. He turns the pages of the bill on his desk and taps on the parchment with his fingers. Alexander leans forward and recognizes his own handwriting. The piles of parchment Washington has been reading is his financial plan. No other bills have so many pages anyway. That’s when his mind starts to wander. Jesus, those broad hands moving across the parchment and those thick fingers idly rubbing the quill...

“Madison is against it,” Washington says, pulling Alexander back to the present, “and he’s already got a lot of support. Now he gets Jefferson on his side.”

“I still can’t get it,” Alexander snaps. “Why would Madison even speak against it? We had an agreement that the federal government should assume the debts when we were together at the Constitution Convention. Now what? He thinks he can just pretend he’s never said that and work against me?”

Washington shakes his head in disapproval. “It’s not like that. Madison was a Federalist, and now he’s not. He has changed his mind, and that’s all.”

Alexander snorts. “He’s even more Federalist than me at the beginning.” 

“Okay, fine.” Washington waves a hand through the air. “The meeting is about to begin. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

“Sorry if I didn’t get it right, mostly because it’s too many damn pages for any man to understand,” Jefferson says teasingly and people laugh, “but here is what I don’t understand – If New York’s in debt, why should Virginia bear it? Our Treasury Secretary told me just now on our way here, it’s about letting the federal government assume the debts, so we can coordinate financial policies in different states. We have to collect taxes together and use the revenue together in order to pay off the debts together. The only conclusion I can draw here is that the only purpose of the bill is to take most fiscal powers from the states and put them into the hand of the federal government. In other words, the hand of Secretary Hamilton.”

“Not true!” Alexander retorts. He gets what Washington was trying to warn him about now. Jefferson is using what Alexander told him less than half an hour ago against him. Alexander knows the problem with himself is that he always talks too much, but he couldn’t help it. He should have listened to Burr. TALK LESS, SMILE MORE.

“And now,” Jefferson ignores him and continues, “Hamilton is even trying to tax us, just like the British. Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky. Imagine what gon’ happen when you try to tax our whisky.” The smile on his face when he speaks really disgusts Alexander.

People shout, cheering for Jefferson, in the background. Alexander realizes the cabinet battle today is completely getting out of control. Well, Alexander is not afraid of playing dirty since Jefferson started this first.

“First things first, my real purpose of assuming state debt.” Alexander starts. Jefferson runs a hand over his chin, smirks and looks at him like he’s expecting something, expectant, probably waiting for him to make a fool of himself. Well, Jefferson has no idea what Alexander can do when he is pissed off.  _There’s a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait._ “Of course, there’s much more than eliminating the national debt. If we assume the debts, the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic. The national debt used as transferable securities can boost the economy, but I won’t explain to you why, because I see now, you know nothing about economics.” 

One thing is for sure, Jefferson is an idiot. Alexander surely did tell Jefferson a lot of things, but Jefferson didn’t even understand a word of it. All he did was misinterpreting what Alexander had said.

Jefferson’s eyebrows go up and he holds up his hands in a fake surrender as if he were impressed by what Alexander has said. Then he bends his head and whispers something in Madison’s ear, and Madison laughs a little. Madison doesn’t often laugh in public and that makes Alexander even more curious about what Jefferson has said, also more furious.

_Just you wait._

“When you are accusing me of depriving the states of your so-called liberty, you are literally depriving others of liberty. A civics lesson from a slaver. Isn’t that ironic?”

Alexander’s words are drowned out by the noise people make in the background. Well, this is exactly what he expected. Slavery is a taboo in this nation. Alexander guesses he’s probably the only one who dares to mention it in the federal government. It doesn’t even look good on Washington’s face, not to mention Jefferson’s or the Democratic-Republicans’. It’s a funny look when the smile falls from Jefferson’s lips and that’s basically Alexander’s intention here. 

Washington has talked about it with him several times. “Don’t mention the S-word again. You don’t want to make all the Southerners against you.” Alexander shoots back, “They’ve already been disagreeing with every proposal I’ve made. Besides,” Alexander will look up at Washington innocently and says, “you’re not against me.” And that ends the conversation every time. Washington will bring this up next time and still won’t explain why he’s not against him.

Washington stands up to keep order. “We’ll reconvene after a brief recess. Hamilton!” 

“Sir!” Alexander knows Washington is pissed off, and here it is, again.

“A word!”

***   


The appearance of Jefferson breaks some balance that once existed between the predators. While everyone is readjusting their strategies in this hunting game, the prey himself is still absorbed in his financial plan.

Aaron is invited into Jefferson’s new office after the cabinet meeting. Of course, he can tell Jefferson is up to something, especially after what happened at the meeting. The cabinet meetings are always funny, where you can watch our founding fathers slander each other like kids in schools, but neither of them can be as interesting as the meeting today. The minute Jefferson first saw Hamilton, Aaron could smell trouble in the air. It was gross the way Jefferson’s eyes stuck to Hamilton’s lips while they were talking, and even more gross when Jefferson’s eyes lingered on Hamilton during the meeting, though he seemed to have made a huge effort to look away. 

And that got on somebody’s nerves. Madison scowled at Jefferson the whole time, which was clearly unnoticed by that empty-headed fool. Except for one time when Jefferson told him a joke and the anger disappeared the moment Jefferson turned around and looked at him. Interesting. Honestly, Aaron still can’t quite figure out what’s going on between those two Southerners. 

Nonetheless, the best part is the look on Washington’s face. It looked like Washington was going to eat Jefferson alive. Aaron hadn’t known there was even a thing between Washington and Hamilton. Washington acted like somebody had messed with his prey, a lion perceiving the approach of a competitor. Mostly Washington was staring at Hamilton with those dark eyes like he was going to eat  _him_ . Aaron couldn’t help but imagine how willingly Hamilton would just let him, letting Washington tear him into pieces and put him back to start it all over again, and that really turned Aaron on.  _Fuck,_ he thought to himself. He was not going to get hard in Congress fantasizing about the President and Hamilton. He should have been jealous if anything was allowed.

Still, it was not the first time he had seen Congressmen put their hands into their pants under the tables with their eyes on the Treasury Secretary. Hamilton had never noticed it, of course. Aaron was seriously thinking that maybe he should mention it to Hamilton one day, except his mind had already wandered to the picture of Hamilton on his knees for those fat Congressmen.

Aaron left before Hamilton finished his speech. 

Now he’s standing in Jefferson’s office, still picturing how obscene Jefferson looked when he was smiling at Hamilton. 

“I’ve heard that you knew Hamilton even before the war, so I suppose you’re quite close, huh?” 

Hell, how much Aaron wishes he could punch Jefferson in his smug face. Madison is not here, just two of them, so no witnesses anyway. “Yeah, if you’re asking whether I know him well.”

There have been a  _lot_ of people who have come to ask Aaron about Hamilton because they know Aaron is an old friend of his. Most of the admirers just ask about his interests, some suggestions on what gifts they should buy for him and where they may meet him  _accidentally_ . Definitely not intelligence for politics.

“I imagine there must be some competition between you two, isn’t it?” Jefferson smiles, leaning back on the back of his chair. “You, the son of the president of Princeton, the grandson of the esteemed theologian, are defeated by that bastard from the West Indies. While he has climbed to the top, you are only a lawyer in New York, unknown outside your hometown.”

Aaron was going to retort, ‘New York is not my hometown’, but... Hold on a second. Aaron sees what Jefferson is doing here. Maybe Jefferson isn’t as foolish as he previously thought. Aaron puts up his characteristic smile. “Well, I’m not standing still. I am lying in wait.”

Jefferson widens his eyes, raises both eyebrows, faking surprised, and laughs a bit. “Even so, aren’t you jealous, even just the slightest bit? What if I say I can allow you whatever you want, the power and the glory, will you say yes?”

Jefferson leans forward with his elbows on the desk and grins like a snake, hissing, making something creep under Aaron’s skin. Aaron does his best to keep the smile polite on his face, trying to hide his thoughts behind the opaque facade. 

Who is Aaron to call himself not jealous of Hamilton? Aaron is Hamilton’s first friend on the continent. The minute he first saw his face outside that little tavern, he  _knew_ that this kid was brilliant, someone you don’t want to make an enemy of. Most people are either crazy about him or they loathe him terribly, but few may say they can be his match. Aaron might see himself as a match for him, but still, it feels like Hamilton is living in a different world from the rest of them, somewhere high on the clouds. Aaron would be content if he can catch a glimpse into it.

“In return,” Aaron responds after a beat, “I guess I need to help you get rid of Hamilton? Well, I don’t think so. If you know anything about me, you’ll know I have a lot of patience. I am not so desperate that I need to sell my friend for a Senate seat, not yet.”

“Wow, that’s respectable,” Jefferson claps his hands as slowly as Aaron can imagine and speaks in a tone that makes sure you know he’s faking it. “What a pity,” he says while he’s clearly not feeling pity at all. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

Aaron has made it to the door when something occurs to him and he turns around. “You know, coincidentally, that's what I thought.”

“What do you mean?” Jefferson can’t help but ask.

“Like you said, I thought you were smarter than this too. Your proposal is great but I still see no reason why I should join the team that is going to lose. Hamilton was right about you guys always hesitant with the President, and that’s why you are going to lose.”

Aaron bites down on the inside of his mouth, hesitating, but he says it anyway. “You’re now considering how to destroy Hamilton’s career because there’s nothing you can do with Washington. People admire him as our national hero no matter whether a Federalist or a Democratic-Republican they might be. You and your men are clamoring about Washington being a puppet in Hamilton’s hand, but have you ever thought it might be the other way around?” 

Aaron knows he’s talking bullshit, but it still feels good to say it out loud, especially given the expression on Jefferson’s face. “You accuse Hamilton of expanding the powers of Treasury Department, but have you ever thought about the fact that the whole cabinet is subordinate to the President? What if, just hypothetically, the idea of expanding our government size comes from Washington in the first place? He doesn’t want to take the responsibility in case all the nuts like you destroy his reputation, so he lets Hamilton speak out for him. What if that's the case?” He thinks, maybe, they are all actually under the control of Washington, like pieces in a game of chess. The only difference between Hamilton and the rest of them is that Hamilton is willing to accept his role in the game.

Aaron sighs and comes to his conclusion, “Even if you succeed at getting rid of Hamilton, your real opponent will still be Washington. So, I suggest you think about getting Hamilton on your side instead.”

That’s where he should have stopped. Of course, that stubborn immigrant is not someone you could ever get on your side, but the thing is that Aaron doesn’t want Jefferson to ever get close to Hamilton.

The room falls silent awkwardly and Jefferson blinks, staring at some spot on the wall behind Aaron, lost in thoughts. 

“I promise I’ll think about it,” Jefferson says, finally. “Feel free to come to me whenever you change your mind.”

***

“I’ve told you—”

“Never mention the S-word. Yeah, yeah, I know,” Alexander grunts.

After the meeting, he was called into Washington’s office, which is not uncommon. He sits in his chair, which he gets quite familiar with now, waiting to be chastised.

“No!” Washington frowns. “I’ve told you, do not trust Jefferson.”

So...no S-word lecturing? Alexander guesses Washington is tired of it too.

“Huh,” Alexander laughs, dryly, “So this is an I-told-you-so situation. I guess it was too late. I've told him too much already.” He shrugs and pouts his lips.

Washington sighs in frustration. “Whatever. You need the votes. You need to convince more folks. You have to find a compromise. Otherwise, I imagine they’ll call for your removal.”

“Sir, I thought—" 

There is an intensity in Washington’s voice that makes him falter. Washington is for real this time. Actually, Alexander doesn’t believe that Congress will ever remove him. They can never find anyone else that can cope with the mess of the national debt. Definitely not Madison. Madison's abilities of practice are just like French puffs, Alexander heard somewhere. “James Madison won’t talk to me, that’s a nonstarter.”

“So this is about your personal pique with Madison, huh?” Washington raises an eyebrow and the fury in his voice grows again. Though Alexander won’t admit he’s scared when Washington gets angry at him, he definitely doesn’t like it.

“It’s not... I have no problem with him. Even if I have, Madison started this.”

“You think Madison betrayed you and you’re the victim here. I can assure you he feels the same way,” Washington says, coldly.

“Okay, I get it. Burr told me about this. I’m always good at turning old friends into enemies.” Maybe he can include Jefferson on the list now. 

Washington doesn’t respond, presumably contemplating. Alexander, sitting across the desk, observes the expression on Washington’s face. The anger has disappeared, and it becomes something stern, worried, and tired. Washington is getting old, Alexander suddenly realizes, and his age is not the main issue here. Honestly, Washington doesn’t look old at all, still the handsome general Alexander met all those years ago. Yet still, it’s been over a decade, and you see from his eyes what he’s been suffering all these years, how many burdens he’s been carrying, and how many sacrifices he’s made for this nation. And the glasses placed on the desk make something ache inside Alexander.

“No, you are not.” When Washington finally responds after an almost painfully long period of silence, his voice is barely audible, like he’s talking to himself. 

Alexander is confused. He blinks at his President and says after a while, “I am not...what?” 

“I said you didn’t turn your old friends into enemies,” Washington says, with a deliberation in his voice. “On the contrary, what you did is that you took your enemies as your friends until you realized the truth about them, because—” There is a pause. “Because you have such a kindly nature that you always choose to see the bright side of human beings. They did not cheat you. Instead, you always assume the best about us all, so naturally, we can’t live up to your expectations and that disappoints you.”

“I...I don’t know what you are talking about.” Is it a compliment? One minute earlier Washington was threatening to fire him, and now he’s flattering him. Is that it? Alexander tries to laugh, to ease the tension in the air, but it turns out to be something dry and silly, and...nervous. Okay, he admits he is nervous. The compliment makes him feel uncomfortable but also warm inside him. 

Alexander is trying to avoid Washington’s eyes when Washington makes sure he’s looking him in the eye. “I said we should talk about this before the meeting, and now we talk. I know you wouldn’t like to talk about such things, which you may find too personal and you may not want to share with people like me.” That is for sure, Alexander thinks. He would usually share his thoughts with Laurens when he was still alive, and now with Angelica occasionally. However, it’s also true that none of them will give him the answer he needs. “But I should warn you,” Washington continues after a beat, “if the pattern continues, you may end up despising everyone on the earth because none of us would ever act exactly as you like.”

_Why are you telling me this?_ Alexander wants to ask. He scans Washington’s eyes for any trace of an answer. Those eyes are dark and distant. Once again, he finds himself wondering what Washington is thinking behind the mask in Washington’s mind. Washington has always been keeping a straight face in front of his subordinates, to maintain the image of a solemn and aloof boss. Alexander hates that. Washington has always been like a riddle to him, while Washington could perfectly read Alexander like an open book.

“What I’m saying is,” Washington adds and looks down, seemingly avoiding Alexander’s eyes, “we’re politicians and it’s our job to adjust our stances to our constituents all the time. If you don’t want to be one of us, just don’t let them make you one. Don’t let them affect you with their vicious attack on your character.”

Something in Washington’s voice warms him and wraps him like a blanket in the freezing snow. That is something that hasn’t happened for a long time, something dangerously close to intimacy, when they spend time together sitting and chatting like this. When they were the General and his soldier, they would put aside whatever was at their hands, usually late at night, and have a little chat. Sometimes it was about politics, Congress, the financial system or the war itself, whether they would die or hang side by side on the gallows tomorrow. Sometimes it became...personal. Alexander knows, they’ve been avoiding this after the war, for it may lead to the topic they wouldn’t like to discuss. But if it’s Washington who wants to bring this up again...

“I’m just trying to protect you here,” Washington continues. “I know that people change all the time, and so will you one day. Whatever happens to you when that day comes, it could be all your fault, but at the same time it could be our fault because we let you down. Maybe we should say sorry to you.”

Washington looks up and meets his eyes. A flicker of tenderness that appears in those eyes awakens a glimmer of hope in Alexander, which is almost forgotten after so many years. Even though it’s just a second and it soon disappears behind the mask, Alexander manages to catch it because this is the moment he’s been waiting for for so long. He wishes he could know what’s happening in Washington’s mind. Is he feeling the same desire burning in himself as Alexander? The desire has been suppressed in Alexander for such a long time that he almost forgets how overwhelmed it can be. God, he can’t believe this is really happening. Alexander feels his breath catch in his throat and his heart hammer in his chest, staring at Washington’s eyes like he’s frozen. When he manages to take back control of his body, he blinks and has no idea what he’s supposed to say.

“Well, that’s...uh...that’s quite a comfort.” Alexander knows what he has just said doesn’t make sense at all, but that’s the best he can do. His eloquence vanishes in an instant. One look from Washington has already turned him on and now in spite of himself, he drops his eyes to Washington’s fingers on the edge of the desk, which he took notice earlier this morning (as well as many other mornings like a hundred times). He starts to imagine what it must feel like with those fingers in the holes of his body and ripping him apart without effort.

Washington clearly notices his strange look, fidgets and looks away. He clears his throat. “Back to the issue here. You need to convince Congress.”

Washington stiffens his tone, startling Alexander back to reality. “Sure, I’ll send out my folks to persuade the Congressmen  _one by one_ .” He stresses on the last words with a grin. 

When Alexander gets out of the office, he still hasn’t gotten over the surprise of what just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no way Burr could attend that cabinet meeting, but it’s just a fic. Thanks for your comments and kudos!


	3. The Room Where It Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop whining, Alexander.” Even if there might be any softness in Washington’s voice, it is gone now. “This is your job and you need to finish it. That’s an order from your commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts with a memory in a memory, so sorry if it’s kind of a mess.

The first time Alexander saw Washington was on the battlefield. The troops were ambushed and the men were fleeing in chaos. The British cannonballs flew in the sky and everyone was in a panic. 

Suddenly out of nowhere, Washington appeared, high on his white war horse, like an ancient god of war that had just come out from the Greek myths. Washington turned the fate of the day all by himself and saved thousands of lives. He rallied the retreating soldiers with nothing but his fortitude and resolve, fought back and won the battle against the British army. 

Imagine what that would mean to a hungry young man in his early twenties, whose head was full of fantasies of dying like a martyr. Alexander would bend to nobody but he couldn’t deny he was drawn to the General, that he revered and admired and desired him. It was irresistible and he was helpless. 

John joked a lot about it. Alexander once told him about his affection for the General and John wasn’t happy about it. He said he didn’t mind it, but it was more likely that he didn’t take it seriously. After all, he and Alexander were lovers at that time. John said Washington was an esteemed and noble general and everyone admired him. So it was a natural thing to mistake admiration as something else. Washington himself told Alexander the same, but that was a long time afterward. John didn’t take it seriously also because he believed nothing would ever happen between the General and Alexander. Even if something did happen, there wouldn’t be a chance for him to compete with the General, so there was no need for him to worry about anything.

Things might have changed a little bit after Alexander got promoted.

Alexander had thought about fighting by Washington’s side in his wildest dreams but he had never thought that he could be his aide-de-camp one day. He was suddenly faced with a dilemma that he got so close to his dream and yet he didn’t want to be anybody’s secretary, including Washington. 

He came across Burr at Washington’s office, and it made the situation a little more complicated. Alexander knew Burr had been looking forward to a promotion from the General recently, and word came that General Washington had been looking for a new aide-de-camp. 

_“Your excellency, you wanted to see me?”_

Alexander thought he was called by the General because he had done something wrong. When he saw Burr also in the room, he was going to congratulate Burr on his success in promotion. He didn’t know he had completely misunderstood the situation.

_“As I was saying, sir, I look forward to seeing your strategy play out.”_

Oops. Apparently, he had just interrupted someone. He could see the annoyance in Burr’s eyes when Burr glanced at him. Alexander couldn’t be more sorry for the rudeness he had shown when he had come in. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the way Burr was forcing a smile when speaking. Burr was one of his best friends, and surely he didn’t want to offend Burr.

_“Burr?”_

Washington’s voice was deep and as powerful as the man he was. Alexander found himself obsessed with the coldness in that voice and thought he would do anything ordered by that voice. Though he might be more interested in what the man that voice attached to would do to him.

_“Sir?”_

_“Close the door on your way out.”_

That was embarrassing. Washington dismissed the prodigy of Princeton college as if he was nobody. Alexander was still lost in his fantasy, when he was startled by the vicious look from Burr.  _Sorry._ He grinned at Burr sheepishly. _Well, that’s an impressively short term of aide-de-camp._

When Burr was gone, Washington asked Alexander whether he would like to be his aide-de-camp. Alexander wondered what Burr would think about this when he heard the news. It was funny that the man who wanted to be an aide-de-camp went to command an army, and the man who wanted to command an army ended up manning Washington’s journal.

First hearing Washington’s offer, Alexander was like,  _would you have sex with me if I said yes?_ Of course, he wouldn’t say that out loud because that would be completely inappropriate. An aide-de-camp was just an aide-de-camp. His job soon turned out to be even more boring than he could have imagined. He could do something about it later, but...

Alexander wakes up, to find himself sweating in his bed. All the images from his dream are still drifting in front of his eyes. Those dreams he used to have when he was a young soldier haven’t come back to him since the end of the war. It hasn’t, until now. Those dreams that used to possess him and deprive him of sleep like a nightmare were never nightmares, but the opposite of nightmares. In those days, he would wake up from his dreams, sweaty and already hard down there, and he would stroke himself and picture his General in his head. How the General would fuck him on the desk which they worked at every day, how helpless he would feel when pressed in the bed by Washington’s body, and God, how those muscles flexed under Washington’s dark skin and how those powerful hands looked like they could break his neck at any minute. How he wanted Washington to hurt him with those hands and left him with bruises or scars. 

Alexander used to bite his lips to hold back all the noises he wanted to make for fear that it would travel out of the thin tent. Even though now he is all alone at his home, there is nothing he can do but bury his face into the pillows, trying to hide those shameful moans. Until he felt something hot came down his thigh, his eyes squeezed shut.

He knows where this comes from. Washington did this to him. Washington with his goddamn dark eyes staring at him like he...like he wanted him. No, that’s impossible, he says to himself. But whatever happened, Washington has aroused his long-buried desire and he is going to make sure Washington pays for it.

His plan is very simple.

Over the next few days, he bothers his boss with all sorts of affairs, such as the interest rate of the national debt, the choice of what products they should tax on, or a contract about nails. Well, there are a lot of nails you need to build a beacon. He tries every excuse he comes up with to get into the President’s office and to get Washington’s attention.

“Maybe we should use a different kind of wood? This one is so expensive.” He shakes his head in disappointment and then points at another name on the list, “That one looks fine to me.”

They are choosing wood like they are choosing clothes in some high-class fashion shop. Alexander would rather go to fashion shops with Washington, though.

“Why are you talking with me about this kind of stuff? You can make your own decisions and you know perfectly well of that.” Washington buries his face in his hands with his elbows on the desk, despairing. Washington’s famous restraint on his temper seems nowhere to be found now.

“Like I said, it’s an important beacon, and in case you don’t know, it takes wood and nails to build a beacon.” Alexander grins, getting himself as close to Washington’s body as he can without being considered improper. He can practically hear the sound of Washington’s heart hammering in his chest as Alexander’s breath lands on his neck. Alexander’s body heat against his back and Alexander’s cologne in his nose.

“I can assure you the people didn’t elect me as the President of the United States just to build a beacon.” Washington groans and leans back to his chair all of a sudden, startling Alexander to take a step back so they won’t bump into each other. Alexander knows that it means ‘Get away from me.’ Huh! Someone is upset about getting so close.

“But you need the beacon to build an army. You know, the Customs stuff.”

Alexander walks back to his chair across the desk and sits down. He wonders if it’s his illusion that Washington leans forward a little the moment Alexander steps away, as if he is going to catch Alexander back.

“All right. Whatever you say.”

Then one day, Alexander comes to find Washington’s office empty.

“Where is Mr. President?” he asks Washington’s secretary.

“Haven’t you heard? The President got some serious pneumonia and he’s gonna take a few days off.”

“Are you serious?” He knows he should be worried about the President’s health, but his intuition tells him Washington’s sudden illness has something to do with him. This is NOT a good time for Washington to fall sick. “No, he can’t do this to me. Congress is going to vote in a few days. He can’t just leave at this moment.”

“Well, maybe he’s just got tired of discussing nails with you.” The secretary grimaces, and cocks his head to the mountains of documents on the desk. “Plus the biggest headache is the quarrels in Congress over the assumption bill.” Then he sighs, “Look, it has really been hard for him recently and the old man fell ill. It happens.”

“I’ll check him at his place.” Alexander is not a quitter.

“You may go there, but I heard the doctors say he was dying, so I’m not sure if he’ll be able to see you.” The guy crosses his arms, clearly not worrying about losing his job.

But Alexander is. Though he cares about Washington’s health mostly because his assumption bill won’t pass without Washington’s support, he doesn’t want Washington to die, whether or not it has anything to do with him.

He gets to Washington’s mansion as quickly as possible as if he’s afraid something bad would happen.  _No, he’s not,_ he tells himself.

The doorman looks like he’s expecting him. Ah...that’s weird.

“Is Mr. President available?” Alexander asks.

“He’s waiting for you in the office.”

“What do you mean he’s waiting?” 

Alexander frowns at the doorman, but gets no response. The doorman shows Alexander to the office, where Washington is sitting behind his desk, perfectly fine.

The room is uncomfortably silent. Alexander is too angry to know what to say. 

Washington starts first, “I knew you would come to have a visit. I just want you to know I’m not hiding from you or anything.”

“Why would I think you’re hiding from me?” Alexander crosses his arms, still standing at the door.

“I’m not faking my illness to get away from you. I thought that would upset you.”

“Upset me? Huh.” He steps slowly forward.

“I just don’t want the public to think that I interfere in the voting of Congress. The assumption bill is a sensitive issue as you know.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Alexander covers the distance to the desk in a few steps. “I’m tired of this bullshit. You said you were afraid of being accused of partisanship, so you haven’t supported me once on the matter of my financial plan, not even once. I get it. You have your own concerns, even if I don’t agree with the way you deal with it. But what the heck are you doing right now? Do you really believe that the people will think you are interfering with Congress just by sitting in your own office?”

He feels the rage boiling in his stomach and blood rushing to his face. People are always trying to get Alexander Hamilton to stop talking. They may try, but only one man can probably do it, and that man needs only one word.

“Sit,” Washington orders.

Alexander heaves a sigh and gathers himself, sits in the chair.

That mask. Again. Washington’s expression is completely opaque. He’s not nervous about being accused. He does not seem offended by a subordinate either. He’s not depressed because the financial plan may not be approved in Congress, which inevitably makes him a failure as a president. He’s not thrilled like he’s already got a plan in his mind to handle the situation. Maybe at least he seems confident, but Washington has always been confident.

“It will sound like I  _am_ intervening after I tell you what you’re gonna do.”

“So you do have a plan.” Alexander cocks an eyebrow.

“Never said I don’t.” A barely noticeable grin at the corner of Washington’s mouth.

“Then why didn’t you tell me? What you said is me figuring it out myself.”

“Because you’re not going to like it,” Washington answers quietly.

Something clicks in Alexander’s head. “Stop. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear it.” He holds up a hand as if it could stop Washington talking. He knows it won’t, because that’s what happens when others trying to stop  _him_ talking.

“You’ve got it. I don’t need to tell you now.” Washington chuckles.

“The capital.” He says with a hand covering his mouth.

“Right.” Washington nods in acknowledgment.

“Everyone knows you support my bill but you also stand for Potomac.” His jaw is still hanging there and he doesn’t know how to put it back in place.

“That’s right.” Washington nods again.

“If I propose to trade the national capital for my assumption bill, you’ll have everything you want. However, if I choose the other way around, the assumption for capital, you’ll have nothing.” A smirk appears on his face.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Washington shifts in his chair, a bit nervous. That’s how Alexander knows he gets the point. He can now see the cracks in the mask.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he retorts, “I love New York. Do you know they did seriously consider renaming the city after me? The U.S. Capital, Hamiltoniana. How does that sound?”

Washington laughs a little laugh, but didn’t respond.

To be honest, that sounds awful. Like they rename Clermont Street after General Mercer. What did Burr say about it?  _The Mercer legacy is secure. All he had to do was die. That’s a lot less work. We oughta give it a try._ Alexander doesn’t want to die yet. Besides, he wants something substantial for his legacy, and Washington knows that.

There is a long pause. The air suddenly gets tense for no reason. They sit there and avoid each other’s eyes. They both know what’s the real problem here and it’s certainly not about which way they should make the deal.

“So I’ll just give up New York? How can I trade away something that I don’t even possess?” Washington doesn’t respond, so he keeps on, “New York is neither my property, nor yours. I admit, I would do whatever it takes to get my plan on the Congress floor, but this... I can’t do it. It isn’t right. If there must be some kind of a deal, the people of New York, they have to get a say in what we trade away. We can’t just make the choice for them. It’s wrong.”

“Politics has never been about right and wrong,” Washington retorts without missing a beat. “It’s about compromise. It’s about getting the best deal you can get.”

Alexander takes a slow breath and exhales, restraining himself. “How would I know I’ve got the best deal? That I am not ruining everything by lying to the people? How could I fall asleep at night?”

“You could not,” Washington responds. “You just hope for the best, that you’ve got more than you gave, and you expect the worst, that you at least wanted what you’ve got. Only time will tell whether you’ve made a good deal or you’ve been cheated, but in this case, you know better than anyone else that your financial plan is much more important than where to put the capital.” 

Without the assumption bill, there is no financial plan. The whole system he conjured up is like a precision instrument. It won’t work if you take out a single cog.

The coldness in Washington’s voice sends a chill down his spine. Alexander lifts up his eyes to meet Washington’s, only to find more coldness in those eyes. The mask breaks, and behind it there is nothing. 

He slumps his shoulders and sighs. “They will hate me, not you. Those New Yorkers they ain’t your friends, not your family, not someone who trusts you and you promise to never give up on them.” He takes another breath, trying to calm himself down. Still, he can hear his voice start to change into something close to whimpering. He wraps his arms around himself and feels like he’s standing on the brink of an abyss, going to fall apart at any moment. 

“Politics is also about taking the burdens,” Washington says, after a beat. His voice may have softened a bit, but hardly noticeable. Yet, that’s all it takes for Alexander to begin sobbing, with his eyes watering and his hands shaking. 

He knows Washington is right. He can now see how the pieces of the puzzle fit together, and that makes him even more frustrated. What does Washington expect him to do? To sit down with the Southerners, conspiring in some secret room?

“I’ve never... This isn’t me. This isn’t right. I can’t...I won’t do this...” He is choking up now, and it is so shameful that it makes him even want to cry harder. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. He knows he’s being absurd. Compromise has always been the most obvious solution to all this, and yet he is Alexander Hamilton. He never knows the meaning of the word compromise. “Why couldn’t you just find someone else to do it?”

“You are in the perfect position to propose the deal,” Washington says in an impassive voice. “You can persuade the Pennsylvania delegates to vote for Potomac in private, and no one shall suspect you of it because you won’t benefit from betraying New York, theoretically of course.”

Washington is right. He is always right. When all is said and all is done, it always turns out that Washington is the right one. 

Alexander is sniffling quietly now, because he just can’t help it. He has no idea how he gets so sentimental. He is not prepared for this, because he didn’t come for this. He came here to find out whether his boss was still kicking, not to be lectured. Then everything goes wrong and everything feels wrong.

He thinks his best choice is to leave as soon as possible. Why is he still sitting here? What is he expecting here? It will be ridiculous if he expects the President to offer a few words of comfort because his Treasury Secretary is crying like a baby.

“Stop whining, Alexander.” Even if there  _might be_ any softness in Washington’s voice, it is gone now. “This is your job and you need to finish it. That’s an order from your commander.”

Alexander’s sobs stop right away, eyes snapping up. His back straightens spontaneously at the order from his old commander. 

This is exactly how Washington should talk to him. Or what, otherwise? 

“Am I clear?” Washington’s voice comes close to ferocity.

Alexander casts his eyes down to his lap and swallows. “Yes, sir,” he says, softly.

Then Washington says nothing, so he takes it as no further instructions and stands up, walks to the door silently. 

When he is halfway to the door, “Remember,” Washington says from behind, “the deal must be proposed by  _them_ . You can’t show your opponents the cards in your hands first.”

“Sure,” Alexander responds over his shoulder, dryly. “No one will find out anything you have to do with the compromise.”

He steps outside and he doesn’t look back.

***

Today is a good day for Thomas. The sun is shining. Hamilton is losing. Washington is dying.

No. He’s not supposed to talk about the President like that. He’s supposed to pay a visit to show his grief over Washington’s illness. Besides, he can say something bad about Hamilton in passing. Hamilton has grabbed as much power as he can while the presidential chair, which he happens to be craving, is vacant. Thomas has nothing to do today anyway, since Hamilton has already taken over his job. 

What makes the day even better is that he sees Hamilton on Washington’s doorstep.

And...Hamilton is crying, like a lost child.

The smile on Thomas’s face disappears because the scene fucking breaks his heart.

He steps lightly to Hamilton as if he’s afraid of startling him, and sits by Hamilton’s side.

“Are you okay?” He raises up a hand and hesitates to land it on Hamilton’s shoulder. Hamilton is curling into a ball like a cat, giving Thomas an urge to stroke the dark hair, pat him, and hold him in his arms.

Hamilton sobs, and the noise makes Thomas totally ruined.

“Tell me. What’s wrong?” He puts his hand on Hamilton’s back softly.

Then Hamilton looks up to him, with those huge, beautiful eyes. There is no light in them, only darkness and frustration. Thomas realizes, horribly, that he would do anything to light up those eyes again.

Hamilton chews on his lips. _“I’ve nowhere else to turn.”_

Hamilton blinks at him, and the tears carried in his eyes run down his cheeks, disturbed by the movement. God, Thomas thinks to himself, that would be the death of him.

“What happened? I swear I’ll help you as long as I can.” He pets his hair, slowly.

He’s never seen Hamilton like this before. Hamilton has always been...elegant, delicate, polished, and demure, with the grace of the French aristocracy.

“Washington...I don’t know. He told me to figure this out, but I don’t know what to do...” Hamilton whimpers.

“You mean your assumption bill?” Thomas asks, and Hamilton nods his head. “We should have a meeting,” Thomas suggests, “Come to my house for dinner tonight. I’ll invite Madison there. We’ll see what we can get.” He was contemplating over the choices, not noticing his hand is caressing Hamilton’s hair. When he realizes what he has done unconsciously, he is about to withdraw his hand before he notices Hamilton hasn’t flinched away. He just sits there and lets Thomas touch him. He puts his chin on his knees, holds them tightly in his arms and humming contently.

Hamilton’s eyes light up on hearing that. “Will you convince Madison to come?” He gasps in surprise.

“Yeah, I will. He will listen to me,” Thomas says with a confident smile on his face.

Hamilton grins back at him and...snuggles up to his touch, his eyes narrowed. Oh my god, Thomas is screaming in his head. What are they doing here? On the doorstep of the President? Hamilton rubs his head to Thomas’s hand, exactly what a cat does when you pet him, before he stands up.

“See you at dinner.” Hamilton smiles, shining more brightly than the sun in the sky.

“See you.”

Then Hamilton is gone, leaving Thomas on the doorstep, reviewing what has happened just now.

Thomas knows he was completely out of his mind. For a start, Madison certainly won’t listen to him. Madison will kill him.

“What did you just say? Are you fucking crazy?” Madison is roaring with rage. “Why would I want to talk with that son of a bastard about the national debt over dinner?” The anger in Madison’s eyes looks like he’s ready to tear Thomas apart.

Madison is known to the public as a pale, quiet, and timid scholar, but in private, he’s the opposite of quiet or timid.

“Why do you hate him so much? I thought you were friends before.” Thomas says, trembling in his chair with Madison shouting over his head.

“I hate him because you  _knew_ this was going to happen, you idiot! The moment you saw him that day outside the Federal Hall, I knew something was wrong. Then you stared at him like all the time during the meeting...”

“People are supposed to look at their opponents at a meeting,” Thomas interjects while Madison’s coughing.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Madison stops his coughs and says with a pointing finger at Thomas. Thomas raises his hands in surrender. Madison continues, “People won’t stare at their opponents like lovesick girls. People won’t invite their opponents for dinner either. Can’t you see he’s manipulating you?”

“I told you. It’s not me who suggested the dinner. Hamilton begged me to join the fray.” Thomas can’t admit that he offered to help Hamilton because he was moved by those eyes full of tears, of course. “I was like, uh, it should be fun. We can humiliate him during the dinner, make a fool of him, before telling him there is no way we would approve the bill. If he’s really that desperate, we can use it to make him do whatever we want.”

“Hold on. I’m gonna stop you there. What's in it for us? You wanna fuck him, or what?” Madison glares at him viciously.

Thomas should be out-raged hearing that, but all he feels is his face burning like fire. “No! Why do you even care about that? Why do you care who I stare at during a meeting?”

“Wow, that’s about me now, huh? It will be more convenient if I don’t go to the dinner at all so you can fuck him however you want. Why did you invite me anyway? If you were not planning to help him with the bill?” Madison crosses his arms, sneering. 

Then Madison coughs again. Thomas frowns nervously. “James, just calm down—” He passes him the handkerchief. “Take a deep breath. That’s right. You’ve been grumbling to me about the capital thing for several weeks, so just please give yourself a break. Okay? Anger does no good to your lungs.”

Then Madison suddenly widens his eyes. “That’s it! We can solve these two problems at once.  _In other words, a quid pro quo_ .”

Honestly, that’s absolutely a good idea. That would be a victory for the Southerners, but all he can see in his eyes is those dark eyes.

“Is Hamilton willing to give up New York?  _And you’ll provide him his votes?_ ” 

_“Well,”_ Madison says and cocks an eyebrow, _“we’ll see how it goes.”_

 _“Let’s go.”_ Thomas grins. All he can think about is those eyes.

***

Alexander gets his revenge. Jefferson tricked him into a trap the first day they met. Now Alexander tricks Jefferson back, into a much larger trap.

Sometimes his tears just well up themselves, but it’s a kind of convenience in some particular situation. It’s also a convenience that he came across Jefferson right outside Washington’s house when the tears hadn’t dried. He needed a shoulder to cry on, though Jefferson wouldn’t be his choice normally. But in this particular situation, Jefferson offered it, and he took it.

What surprised Alexander was how easy it was to get Jefferson’s trust. It was easier than he thought when he was crying in Washington’s house. Despite his aversion to the so-called  _politics_ , he probably has a gift for it, like many other things in the world.

Now he’s sitting in Jefferson’s dining room, enjoying the high-class wine shipped from France.

It’s said that, when Jefferson came back from Paris, he packed crate after crate of French wine, silver, paintings, etc. He would have shipped the French ladies back if he could. Those furniture and porcelain are all placed around the house now. It’s quite a view, Alexander thinks, as he wanders along the corridors of the house decorated with all kinds of shiny things. Alexander loves shiny things, but he can’t afford even a single piece no matter how hard he works all his life. He wonders, if he begs, would Jefferson give one of these to him as a gift? He finds himself pretty good at begging recently. Begging Jefferson, at least. He ponders, as he stares at his own reflection in the delicate silver knife in his hand.

“Hamilton?” Jefferson snaps his fingers in front of Alexander’s eyes.

There has been a long silence since Madison came in. The atmosphere is a bit awkward.

“Sorry, just lost in thoughts. Shall we begin?” Alexander puts down the knife and takes a sip of the wine in the glass. “The wine is really great, Thomas,” he comments. He looks into Jefferson’s eyes and makes sure Jefferson sees the way he licks his lips to taste the wine on the lips, how he enjoys himself. As expected, Jefferson drifts his eyes between the wine and his tongue. Alexander laughs inside at that. He has always been good at this, even though he’s never succeeded in seducing the only man he really wants to.

“Uh...yeah, French wine. Good stuff,” Jefferson says and nods, seems a little dizzy, as if he’s already drunk. 

Madison shoots Jefferson an annoyed glance. Alexander sees the rage in Madison’s eyes, but Madison forces his voice to remain calm. “Thomas,” Madison clears his throat and says. “We should talk about the issue of the assumption bill.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jefferson mumbles, awoken to reality, “Madison and I came up with an idea. A quid pro quo.” Jefferson waits for Alexander’s reply, while Madison remains silent all the time.

“What do you mean?” Alexander frowns, behaving as if he were confused and surprised by the proposal. 

He’s not surprised at all, in fact. He expected Jefferson would be prepared. He expected Jefferson and Madison would work out their plan tonight in advance. Otherwise, Alexander would be in trouble.

Alexander may not be good at being patient, but this time he has to. Washington has already warned him. Wait for the fish to take the bait. 

Besides, he’s interested in observing the interaction between Jefferson and Madison. When Madison opposed him in Congress for the first time, Alexander was shocked. It was around the time when Jefferson came back from Paris, so it was reasonable for Alexander to assume Madison changed parties because of Jefferson. Jefferson has always appeared to have control over Madison in public. Madison has never shown any disrespect or disagreement to Jefferson in Congress and remains silent most of the time when Jefferson is present. 

However, the truth isn’t as simple as it appears to be. Madison is mad at Jefferson tonight, Alexander can see. Madison doesn’t like the way Jefferson looks at Alexander, or talks to Alexander, especially the way he smiles at Alexander, which may add complications to the deal tonight. If Jefferson has the final say, things would be much easier. Alexander has the confidence to convince Jefferson, but not Madison. Madison knows him too well to be tricked.

If he has to convince Jefferson and Madison both, that will increase the risk. If Madison is the one who actually has the final say, well, Alexander needs to readjust his strategy. He wouldn’t want to annoy the boss then. The stakes are too high, and he can’t make a mistake.

_So, this is how he’s gonna win the game._

“The nation’s capital. It’s totally fair.” Jefferson grins and crosses his arms, sits back in his chair. He seems proud, but with no hostility. He seems glad that he can help Alexander with his problem.

“You mean...like you’ll vote for me if I persuade the Federalists to give up New York?” Alexander is always ready to argue with someone, always ready to get angry with some, so it’s not hard for him to pretend angry at all. “How could you even suggest such a thing? Is it not you guys that have been accused the executive department of interfering with the legislative department?” He snarls at the two Virginians across the table.

_Number one._

_He isn’t just_ **_not_ ** _proposing the deal, but against the deal, making it look like they’re begging him to take it. They’ll concentrate on convincing him, instead of discussing the details of the deal. They’ll be satisfied with the capital. They won’t bring up other conditions, such as restraining his further financial policies. Only in this way can he ensure his unprecedented financial power, a system he can shape however he wants._

“Wait. Calm down, Hamilton. You’ve already been lobbying Congress for New York. There won’t be any difference.” Jefferson sighs and puts his arm on the table. It seems that he wants to touch Alexander and comfort him. Madison stares at Jefferson’s hand viciously.

“Of course, there is,” Alexander snaps and leans back, away from Jefferson’s hand. “I lobbied as a New Yorker, as a citizen, not as the leader of the Federalist party. The latter would be abusing the power in my hand, and it would be a betrayal. I won’t betray the city I come from.”

“New York is not the city you come from,” says a cold voice, without missing a beat.

Something snaps in Alexander’s head.

His first instinct tells him that would be Madison, but in fact, it’s Jefferson.

Alexander glares at Jefferson, taken by real shock this time. His mouth hangs open, but he doesn’t even know what to say. So he stands up and makes a harsh sudden noise by pushing the chair backward. He heads for the door without saying a word.

He knows Jefferson didn’t mean it. He knows Jefferson blurted it without a second thought. He’s just fucking tired of this. Wherever he goes, there are always people judging him according to all kinds of things that don’t matter at all.

He has never expected that Jefferson would be different. On the contrary, Jefferson could be the worst of them. Still, he hoped that if a person looked at you with such a fond look, he could have seen the real human being inside you, not just another immigrant bastard. Apparently, nothing has changed. Once he identifies you as  _something_ , nothing will change their thoughts to recognize you as  _someone_ .

“Fine. You’re angry now, like a child.” Jefferson scoffs, behind Alexander, “You may go wherever you want. Go, now. New York won’t win anyway, and you know it. The only problem is that we can’t get a majority because it’s a tie. Unless you prefer Philadelphia as the capital.” Then after a beat, he adds, “So, Potomac for your financial bill. Do you want it or not?”

Calm down, Alexander tells himself. Finish your job, and you may continue sulking after that. 

_Number two._

_Jefferson is right. Alexander knows New York is a piece that has to be sacrificed in the game of chess, whether he wants it or not. Some of the Pennsylvania delegates have already settled an agreement with the Virginians. What Alexander needs to do is to show how important New York is to him and how desperate he is, so Jefferson and Madison won’t take a serious look at the truth Jefferson has just said: the deal is not fair at all._

Alexander turns on his heel, to find Jefferson with his characteristic smirk. He leans back in his chair, nails knocking on the wood of the table. Madison suddenly realizes something, he gasps and opens his mouth to speak, but Alexander gets first.

“Deal.”

Alexander leaves the house as soon as he can. Since he’s already been in the corridor, he goes straight outside and gets on a coach. 

_Number three._

_That idiot still knows nothing about economics. Jefferson doesn’t know what the assumption bill means to him, but Madison does. When Madison realizes the first two mistakes they’ve made, the best chance for Alexander is: run. Seal the deal and run as quickly as he can before they change their mind._

It’s a pity that he didn’t have a taste of the dinner, except for the wine. The dishes must be French, too.

Congress passes the Residence Act and the assumption bill. They hold a ball as a celebration.

Congress finally breaks the deadlock over the capital, and it’s also a memorable moment that they’ve selected a permanent capital for the new nation. It’s not much of a celebration for the Federalists, though, considering a large portion of them are from New York or other northern states. Moreover, it is one of the most depressing days for people in New York. New York has been the most prosperous city after the war, and yet they lost to a river, a site in the middle of nowhere. Well, it is close to Mount Vernon.

Alexander is not quite welcome at the ball for obvious reasons. All those eyes that once looked at him in awe now stare at him with resentment, but it doesn’t destroy his good mood. He wins the game, and as Washington said to him, only time will tell you whether you’ve made a good deal, so it’s fine if they don’t appreciate him right now.

Speaking of Washington, where is Washington now? Eliza has been on a visit to Albany with the kids and other New York friends are glaring at him with hatred. Alexander is all alone.  _I feel lonely and I want Washington,_ a voice murmurs in his head.

Uh, there he is. Beaming as expected. Washington is the biggest winner of the day, so surely he can enjoy himself tonight.

And there is Martha. They are walking shoulder by shoulder, drinking, chatting, and smiling. They have always been an admirable couple for all these years. Martha looks stunning, elegant, and so confident by Washington’s side, with so much happiness on her face. Alexander is not sure how much of it is fake, a performance put on for the sake of public image, but sure enough, some of the happiness swollen in her smile simply can’t be faked.

Martha is not often seen at social events like this. Obviously, she is not a fan of socializing. Though the same is true of Washington, she is less obligated to such things.

Alexander thinks he should go give his greetings.

“Mr. President. Mrs. Washington. It has always been a pleasure to see you.” He bows his head to Washington first, and then Martha, with a bright smile, which is nothing but out of politeness.

“Hamilton,” Washington responds, apparently not interested in a conversation with him. There is some conversation going on between him and Martha, which he prefers to continue.

They walk off before Alexander knows what’s just happened. Alexander watches their backs disappear into the crowd. They’re laughing at some joke Washington just said, her head on his shoulder. Sweet. Indeed, Alexander doesn’t often see Washington smile, and he can’t help but wonder, what Washington would be like with his own wife. Maybe he doesn’t often smile because it’s limited to the ones closest to him, and Alexander, apparently, is not one of them.

There is nothing personal that Washington dismissed him in a nearly rude manner. He merely needs some time with his wife. It must be already exhausting for him to socialize with all the politicians.

There is nothing personal that Washington shared some secret joke with his wife. It’s a private world shared between husband and wife, and no one else has any right to pry.

There is nothing personal that Washington shut him out of his world. He is no one to Washington, but a secretary, a subordinate.

There is nothing personal.

Alexander keeps telling himself that, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t help the way it’s burning inside him.

“Mr. Secretary,” says a woman’s voice behind him. Alexander turns around. He remembers he’s met her somewhere. It’s a lady from the Livingston family. “May I introduce you to my sister? She said she would  _love_ to meet you, sir.”

Then a lady shows up behind her. “Maria Reynolds, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene of Jefferson and Hamilton on Washington’s doorstep is written based on my daily observation of my cat. I seriously consider I should thank him for his contribution.  
> I know this chapter is depressed for hamwash but the next one will be fun.


	4. Summer in the city

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I’m late. I’ve been busy with school and I can’t guarantee regular updates. But... Here comes the General! Washington’s POV! I hope you enjoy!

Burr told Alexander he was lucky to be seated at the right hand of the General. Of course, everyone thought so. How lucky he was to be promoted to the General’s aide. How lucky he was, as a bastard, orphan, son of a whore.

 _‘You’ve made myself indispensable,_ ’ Burr once said. Well, that was pretty much true. Theoretically, his job was to draft letters for the General at his dictation, but he managed to finish the letters even before the General’s dictation because he knew exactly what the General was thinking about. Later, the young lieutenant colonel found he could draw up battle plans and give better orders than the General himself, given a military situation. As time went by, he became brave enough to bring up his different opinions on Washington’s strategies. So of course he was indispensable. Otherwise, who would write those beautiful and convincing letters to Congress, to their allies, to other generals, to ask for food and guns and ships and troops? Who would listen to the General’s complaints and worries in the middle of the night? Who could calm down the General’s nerves when he lost his temper more and more often when some most terrible news came? Alexander wondered what would happen if he offered to resign.

For the moment, indispensability did bring him some convenience. Some convenience that allowed him to develop a relatively intimate relationship with Washington. He tried to go further and further, bit by bit every day. It was clear that Washington couldn’t be ignorant of what he was doing. The way he spoke, the way he acted, and the way he stared, whenever Washington was in the room. Washington didn’t stop him, so he went even further. Until Washington did.

He kissed him.

Washington neither rejected, nor kissed back. The kiss was pretty good, but the silence afterward nearly drove him crazy. They just stood there, both forgot their words and stared at each other, until Washington broke the silence.

Washington explained that it was merely out of respect for Alexander’s service for the army that he didn’t reject, and he didn’t kiss back because it was wrong for a commanding officer to do such things with a man of a lower rank. The decision had been made and even though Alexander argued that it was completely of his own free will, it was still wrong, somehow. Washington said whatever Alexander felt about him didn’t really exist. It was just natural admiration and reverence for a man’s commander, which was especially the case for someone as respected as Washington.

Funny that Alexander held anything but respect for Washington. As Washington’s closest underling, Alexander knew all his flaws better than anyone else on the earth. The fervent respect he once held for Washington was long gone. Alexander was sure there was nothing about respect, only lust in his filthy dreams, where Washington used him like a toy and played him like a harp to wring those beautiful sounds out of him.

Alexander didn’t argue with Washington again. Washington said so probably just because he didn’t want to be so mean, saying things like, ‘I just don’t want you,’ or ‘You disgusts me.’

Alexander had never been one of those who were awed by the godlike Washington, but he respected his commander enough to restrain his temper and never talk back to Washington face to face. Until he did and everything fell apart.

_“I don’t have your name. I don’t have your titles. I don’t have your land. But, if you—”_

_“No—”_ Washington shook his head as if it was the worst thing that could happen to him. How bad could it be to lose your favorite quill?

_“If you gave me command of a battalion, a group of men to lead, I could fly above my station after the war.”_ There must have probably been hundreds of times when he brought this up to Washington. Nothing ever came of it. Now, he was trying to reason with Washington once again because he, Alexander Hamilton, never knew when to quit.

_“Or you could die and we need you alive. Your wife needs you alive, son, I need you alive,”_ Washington growled at him, outraged.

“No,” he snapped, “you don’t need me alive. You can find yourself another aide easily, probably Aaron Burr. Just stop pretending that you care about my life. You are not my father and I am not your son.” He couldn’t help but spit out what had been on his mind for a long time.

Washington seemed taken aback and confused by his sudden retort. “Of course I care. Of course I care for you.” He frowned.

“No, you don’t  _care for_ me. Like I said, stop pretending. Stop lying to me,” he snarled, without really understanding what he was talking about, and he knew how desperate he sounded. It all happened too quickly and he didn’t have time to think. It just came out of his mouth. “You care for me because you think you’re some kind of father to me. You just enjoy pretending to be everyone’s father. You can be Lafayette’s father if he’s okay with it. But you are not  _my_ father. You can’t care for me based on something that is not true. There is nothing between us but a commander and his underling, just like you once said. You can’t pretend that you care for a soldier like me and drown me in the fantasy that you do care for me the way I want you to.”

He was talking too fast, too loud, and only a few seconds later did he realize what he had just said. Sometimes he got over excited, shot off at the mouth. He found himself gasping, feeling dizzy for talking too much all at once. 

Apparently, both of them didn’t expect what had just happened. After a long pause, Washington said, “You knew that wouldn’t be possible.”

“Well then, don’t call yourself my father. My father, my real father, left me when I was ten. He is still alive on some goddamned island in the West Indies but he just doesn’t give a shit about me. He doesn’t want to know how his son went to King’s College, serves at the right hand of the most powerful man in the continent, and married a daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the state.” He’s close to tears, and why was he talking about James Hamilton? He had no idea.

“You don’t want me to be a substitute for your father because you think I would leave you as he did.” Washington cut in, and it was not a question. It was a statement.

How could Washington always understand him better than himself? That was exactly his point. “Yeah, I think you are correct.” His voice became quiet after shouting himself hoarse. “A father has never been someone that I can rely on. I guess I just have problems trusting a man that comes into my life and claims to be my father.” 

Family might be apart. Friends might be apart. But lovers wouldn’t, at least they don’t want to.  _Say I can trust you to never leave me because you’re my lover_ .

All the courage on the battlefield had abandoned him. He said the words silently in his mind but couldn’t say them out loud. What he could do was keep his eye contact with Washington, staring at him expectantly.  _If you can read me like an open book, then read._

_Say you’re my lover. Say you’ll never leave me._

Washington didn’t respond. His expression was unreadable before he paced over to look at the noisy staff downstairs, deep in thought.

_Just say it._

“If that's the case, there's nothing I can do about it,” Washington finally turned around and said.

“Sir—” Alexander tried to reach out to him, but Washington took a step back.

“Go home, Alexander. You need to pull yourself together before you come back to see me. That’s an order from your commander.”

So it was just a commander and his underling. Commander or father, they would be apart after the war. He had thought that he would be satisfied if he could at least keep the man in his life, but Washington would be back in Mount Vernon, and Alexander would go back to New York. Probably, he would see him again, if there was a chance.

***   


Hamilton was oblivious, but from George’s perspective, it was clear as day that Jefferson was up to something the moment they walked shoulder by shoulder into the room. George warned Hamilton about it, but it wasn’t the point. The point is, Jefferson’s stare at Hamilton upset him. Maybe upset isn’t the right word to describe how he felt at that moment. It was something he had never felt in his whole life. It was jealousy, Martha told him, after he explained it to her. Jealousy, how could he even be jealous for Hamilton anyway? 

He didn’t notice how possessive he was about Hamilton until someone showed up to take Hamilton away and threaten to hurt the boy. He can’t draw a clear distinction between being protective and being possessive, but it’s quite obvious that he wants the boy. His boy. He was furious that Jefferson played that trick on Hamilton. Of course, he was worried someone like Hamilton would easily get hurt by politicians like Jefferson. More importantly, he couldn’t stand the possibility that Hamilton could be in someone else’s pocket. 

In his office after the meeting, he almost let slip the truth. The truth was that he had wanted Hamilton from the first day they met. Otherwise, how could he not lust for the young, beautiful, brilliant soldier working by his side every day? 

He also knew from the very first day that it wouldn’t be possible for them. Because first, he couldn’t do such things to his own aide, which he had especially insisted on banning in his army. He didn’t want the commanders of a higher rank to take advantage of those lower than them. Not to mention, it already made him feel bad about himself to think about what he wanted to do to this young soldier. It would be monstrous. Second, he had always kept himself aloof from his subordinates to ensure their respect, except Hamilton. He had been the one trying to advance their closeness and being treated with indifference. He didn’t want to go further nevertheless, especially when Hamilton was already arrogant enough. It was more than Hamilton and him, and it could have affected his leadership in the army. That was no kidding in a war. Third, Hamilton got married later on and made it even more immoral.

George attended their wedding, of course, and he gave his best wishes to them from the bottom of his heart. He could see how happy Hamilton was with Eliza and he knew they would make a perfect couple. ‘My life is gonna be fine because Eliza is in it,’ Hamilton said to him. When the war ended, the reason changed from ‘I won’t do such things to Colonel Hamilton’ to ‘I won’t do such things to Mrs. Hamilton.’

Before the vote, George was honest when he said he didn’t want to be suspected of interfering with Congress. With Congress’s vote coming in a few days, everyone was watching both of them closely, waiting for them to make a mistake, like wolves waiting for sheep to get tired of running, so they can tear the prey apart and eat them alive. He could be protecting himself, but more importantly, he was protecting Hamilton. He needed to stay neutral so he could help Hamilton when he had to.

Not that George didn’t know the game Hamilton was playing. He kept bothering him, annoying him, until he had no choice but to admit that he almost couldn’t help himself whenever Hamilton walked into his office, sat across from him, and fiddled with a quill in those delicate fingers. But George also knew that if he couldn’t give Hamilton what he wanted, he must shatter his illusions about any possibility of them. Though it couldn’t be easy for him to keep his composure in the face of Hamilton’s seduction. Plus, he might have forgotten how persistent Hamilton could be. Well, at least he could avoid Hamilton by taking his days off. 

Hamilton accused him of being a heartless politician. That was not the first time Hamilton had accused him of such things, although he thought he would never get used to it. It still made his heart ache. On one hand, he did want to help Hamilton become a qualified politician. The first lesson to be one is to learn to compromise. Besides, he wanted to use it as a way to remind Hamilton of his place. On the other hand, he didn’t want to teach Hamilton anything because he didn’t want to change any of him. He wanted Hamilton to remain what he had been since the first time they had met, passionate, confident, and especially impulsive, which was the part he loved about Hamilton most, somehow. Head full of fantasies of dying like a martyr. Never hiding his thoughts and always taking an unwavering stand.

He had doubts that maybe he had gone too far. He knew that for sure the moment he saw Alexander’s tears run down his cheeks. He felt himself literally crumbling into pieces at the sight of it, heart clutched by an invisible hand. 

He would withdraw all the mean words he had said if he could. He would let the whole nation burn to ashes if that could put that adorable smile back on the boy’s face. He would hold the boy tight in his arms, tell him everything would be fine, and kiss him happy if it could smooth out those knitted eyebrows. Lord, if only he could.

But he couldn’t. He fully understood what Alexander had once told him. Giving Alexander hope for a hopeless fantasy once in a while would do nothing but make them both suffer. Washington had promised himself not to do that to Alexander again. 

He just needed to resist the urge in himself. When Alexander stepped outside the door, he wished Alexander could just look back one last time and he would break down all at once and nothing could save him. But Alexander didn’t. And he was left alone with all his guilt and self-hatred.

George comes across Alexander down the hallway. He’s reading a letter, clearly lost in deep thoughts, standing still in the middle of the way. He’s probably just got his mail and on his way back to his office he doesn’t want his time wasted so he reads along the way. George has to laugh at the scene. Alexander can be impeccable when he tries to act like a decent man, but there’s nothing different than a maniac when he’s immersed in his own world. George often sees him pacing around and talking to himself.

Something seems to occur to Alexander when his eyes flick up, not in George’s direction, but out of the window. It’s already afternoon. The golden sunlight reflects in the glassy eyes, like fire reflects on crystals. The scene can be described as beautiful, almost like a dream. George wishes he could find a painter to capture this stunning moment. It makes his heart ache even more thinking of what he’s done to the boy.

“Hamilton.”

“Er... Mr. President.”

Alexander, seemingly startled, drops the stack of papers in his other arm all over the floor. He quickly gets down to the ground and starts collecting the papers. George steps forward, going to offer his help, when he finds the letter Alexander has been reading lie on the ground, ignored. George shoots it a few glances curiously. Okay, he knows he shouldn’t, but it’s in plain sight and George doesn’t even need much attention to notice the terrible handwriting on the parchment. The words are quite blunt, something like ‘I miss you,’ ‘I want you,’ and it mentions the ball several nights earlier. At the end of the letter, it reads ‘Mrs. Reynolds’.

It doesn’t surprise George that Alexander gets a love letter from a woman. He thinks he remembers the girl from the ball that night. The night he brought Martha with him in an attempt to remind Alexander they’re both married. Well, he knows he was being ridiculous, especially given that Martha and he aren’t  _really_ married. George hasn’t gotten any child of his own for a good reason and Martha is more of a good old friend to him. He saw Alexander with this girl that night. Though he didn’t know her name then, it all makes sense now. The girl met Alexander at the ball when Eliza was out of town and wrote the letter that captivated Alexander just now. Except, Alexander never gets serious about the love letters he receives.

George thought what Alexander was doing at the ball was just to make him jealous. After they parted, he had been watching Alexander in secret, watching him making a splash in the room. He seemed to restore his spirits all of a sudden, preened himself like a peacock, and danced all night with the girl. Frankly, this is what Hamilton does all the time, being the limelight of the ballroom. George is probably just being paranoid.

And now, seeing Alexander so intrigued by the girl’s letter, this must have gone way more than casual flirting. It’s getting serious. 

George is so sick of this. Like chasing a wind you can never catch up. He keeps his distance so that Alexander won’t make a mistake because of him, but as it turns out, Alexander just whores around with everyone else. First Jefferson, and now this... Mrs. Reynolds. Seriously, George thought Alexander had a better taste than that.

He gives the letter back to Alexander. “Are you alright? I saw you a bit uh...”

“Yeah, sure,” Alexander responds, almost too fast.

“I saw you reading the letter. Anything serious I should be aware of?”

“What? I...” Alexander seems bewildered. He looks down at the letter. When he looks back to George, the alarm in those eyes looks like he’s going to have a panic attack.

“I mean, Congress, the Customs. Is everything okay?” He’s playing innocent and trying to calm Alexander down.  _You don’t need to hide anything from me._

Alexander curses under his breath. Alexander didn’t even realize what he was holding before it all dropped to the floor. When Washington asked, he was like, ‘Letter? What letter?’ 

He glances at the parchment and remembers it now. He was reading the first letter in his mail, which he found was from the girl at the ball. Then his thoughts wandered from the girl to the ball, to Washington that night. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. How could Washington be so mean to him? He wanted to hate Washington, but he simply couldn’t do it. He loved Washington. No, he hated Washington. No, he loved Washington. When he chanted the name in his mind, all he could think of was those hands, strong arms, broad shoulders, and the perfectly carved lines in his face. Still, the coldness in those eyes hurt him so much that he would never forget. Jesus, he was going fucking crazy.

He realizes it doesn’t look good if Washington is asking about the letter. Washington must think that he’s enchanted by that silly girl and going to cheat on Eliza. Honestly, what Maria did was just appearing at the right time and the right place, when Alexander got lonely and felt depressed, needed someone to rebuild his self-esteem, which was torn to shreds by Washington. He needed someone’s appreciation. He needed someone to tell him that he could still be loved and he still got some charm. He needed someone to remind him that he didn’t  _need_ Washington to survive this ridiculous world. Maria appeared and that’s it. 

He didn’t expect Maria would write him a letter or something, but apparently she needs some help because her husband mistreats her. She asks for some money and suggests they meet at her home tonight.

A vicious idea appears in Alexander’s mind. If Washington has to ask, he’ll give him the answer, whether he likes it or not. If it doesn’t bother him even that Alexander is having an affair with someone else, Alexander will be convinced that this whole game Washington has been playing with him is a figment of his imagination. Washington didn’t want him when he kissed him. Washington didn’t care for him when he looked him in the eye and said ‘I’m just trying to protect you’. Otherwise, he will have his revenge. If Washington has any affection for him, he’ll let him taste the jealousy and pain Washington made him feel. 

“Uh... Mr. President. Can I tell you a secret? If you can keep it for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” Washington’s eyebrows are knitted together. Huh, Washington is definitely upset now, if not earlier.

“It’s from a lady, Mrs. Maria Reynolds. Her husband's doing her wrong, and she needs help from me, which is why she’s going to come to my place tonight. You know, Eliza is out of town, so things may get tricky. I’m not going to cheat on my wife or something, but still, I don’t want any misunderstandings or rumors. So please, keep it secret for me.”

Now he needs to write a letter to Maria to invite her to _his_ home, and it needs to arrive in her hand before sundown. It can all be arranged. Maria might be truly in need, or she wants something else from him, money, power, or information. Girls like Maria always want something. Well, this time Alexander wants something from her. If Maria is up to something, she’ll come to his house without question. 

“That’s uh...” Washington didn’t expect him to tell the truth. He blinks at Alexander, not knowing how to respond. He turns on his heel and walks away in a rush.

Did he make it? Alexander has no idea whether Washington will buy it or not. Either way, he’ll find out after sundown. He just needs to be patient. It’s a gamble, like every choice he’s ever made in his life. He has always been a gambler, and in the games he plays,  _he plays and he raises the stakes, and he keeps winning anyway._

George thought he wished for Alexander to stop bothering him and leave him alone. But, as they say, be careful what you wish for. George finds himself even more miserable now. He finds himself glad to be bothered, and it’s utterly unbearable when Alexander looks at someone else the way he used to look at George. Well, considering what he has done, he deserves it.

However, Alexander has never been a good liar. George saw the way Alexander rolled his eyes, trying to map out a strategy, before answering his question. It’s just a trap waiting for George to walk in, but it’s well-designed. The mere possibility that Alexander could’ve fallen in love with someone else drives George crazy. If he chooses to ignore it, the little bastard may repeat what he did at the ball, go to find a distraction, namely Maria, making George jealous.

It’s only a matter of time before he falls into one of the traps Alexander sets all around him. When Alexander Hamilton wants something, he will do whatever it takes to get it. Sometimes it’s just to prove that he can, he can succeed in every goal he sets for himself. George is Alexander’s new target now. He will never get his way out.

George knows, he’d better stay home and let Alexander do whatever he wants with Maria. One of the million reasons on the list is Jefferson. Alexander has never been able to hold his temper hearing what they say in the newspapers. George is not that sensitive, but he knows what’s going on out there. Jefferson has been persistent in convincing George that Alexander is some kind of monster or tyrant, contaminating this nation with greed for money and power. Alexander and Jefferson keep it civil with each other face to face, but it’s completely opposite when they are hiding behind their pseudonyms.

Jefferson has his men write the articles and send the newspapers to George. George tells his servants to throw them in the trash, but they still come every day. Sometimes George would be curious to take a look at them and to find out what the idiots are talking about recently. Not that he won’t regret it once he reads them—it never fails to ruin his day. 

That’s how he knew he should keep his distance in the coming Congress voting, and that’s how he knew he should make every effort to avoid rumors about his relationship with Alexander. They’ve already made such a fuss suspecting Alexander is George’s illegitimate child. Imagine what they will be like with rumors that George is sleeping with Alexander.

George has every reason to stay out of this, but every part of his body is screaming no. It’s already dark outside now. It’s summer in the city and the streets are quiet. What is Alexander doing right now? He wants to know. Is he with Maria? What are they doing right now? George can’t help picturing what’s happening at Alexander’s house. Fire is burning in his chest and devouring him with fury and envy. 

He walks outside, into the darkness. He knows he is making a mistake but he doesn’t care. He knows it’s a trap perfectly designed for him, but he’s more than willing to jump in because he knows Alexander will be waiting for him at the end of this. He should have known he would be defeated by the stubborn boy from the beginning of all this. Why bother struggling if he’s doomed to failure?

Alexander is not surprised at all when Washington shows up on his doorstep. 

“Mr. President.” His tone is casual and flat and his face is expressionless. As if there’s nothing strange to find the president here late at night. As if there’s nothing wrong to see the president disheveled and restless like he’s just woken up from a nightmare. 

It  _is_ normal, in some way, given that he’s used to being visited by Washington at an inconvenient time. It reminds him of the old days during the war when the general roused him in the middle of the night to draft some urgent commands or letters. They had some kind of unspoken agreement. Washington would not hesitate to send for him for trivial concerns and Alexander would offer his hand and start working without any question.  _I’m always here for you._

Washington glances up upstairs despite himself. Alexander is well aware of how curious Washington must be about the situation in his bedroom. Yet, it’s obvious that Washington is the one in disarray and Alexander is dressed appropriately, almost too neatly considering the time now.

Alexander’s voice is totally innocent. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?” He knows Washington likes it when he calls him sir. That’s probably because it gives him a sense of power over Alexander, and Alexander also likes saying the word to Washington.

Washington scans around the room and soon realizes the trap. For a few seconds it looks like he will turn around and run away with anger and Alexander will never see him again, but he doesn’t. In fact, Washington walks inside and locks the door. His face is unreadable. They’re standing in front of each other in the narrow passage. The air gets tense out of reason that is hard to tell. Maybe it’s the way Washington dominates the space from above. Jesus, Washington is as massive as a mountain.

“Yes. I believe you can help me clarify some facts,  _Hamilton._ ” Washington stresses on his name, quite formal, as if it’s just business.

Alexander raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, takes a step back. “What facts?” he asks, and before Washington can respond, “The fact that you instructed me to make a secret deal with Jefferson while hiding yourself behind the curtain like a coward. Or the fact that you treated me like a stranger at the ball? Or the fact that you said you didn’t want a relationship with someone of a lower rank and you...” There, he trails off. He’s not letting Washington see his tears, again. After a beat, he asks, “Why did you look at me like that, in your office after the cabinet meeting?”

“In what way?” George frowns. He knows his eyes must have betrayed himself, but he doesn’t know how much they did. Did Alexander know George got a boner despite his proudest self-control? Did Alexander know how seductive he could be simply by looking somebody in the eyes? The same way he’s staring at George now, except the rage.

“Like you cared for me...” Alexander nearly chokes on his words but he carries on, “I told you not to do this to me, and yet you did it again. I can now see the game you’re playing.”

“I am the one playing a game?” George cuts in. Wow, that’s not fair.

“Yeah. You make me believe there’s something between us, lure me into a trap and then all of sudden, you leave me, abandon me, bury me in the ground. You show your kindness just to hurt me harder. You know me so well because you get close to me by gaining my trust, but your purpose is just to know my weaknesses so that you can hurt me deeper.”

Fine, Alexander does have a point. It’s like magic that Alexander can always prove his point, no matter how ridiculous it first appears.

“Stop,” George commands. He takes a step forward, forcing Alexander to hit the wall behind him. George is towering over him and Alexander has to look up to speak to him but that doesn’t stop him ranting.

“No, I won’t stop till I make it clear. When you think you can’t hurt me deeper this time, you come back and rescue me from the trap hole, pet me like a feral cat you pick up on the streets. You feed and groom the cat, but once you tame him, you kick him out.”

George can’t listen to a word that comes out of Alexander’s mouth. The situation is too distractive. The space is so small and they’re so close. George can smell Alexander’s cologne, something familiar but unnoticed until now. It’s sweet and a bit sharp, like Alexander himself. The room is not lit by candles for some reason, but George doesn’t need extra light to see how beautiful Alexander is in the moonlight, with the lines of his face and the sparkle in his eyes, slightly wet with tears of anger. Alexander seems so small and so helpless pressing against the wall that George feels like he can reach out and break the boy with bare hands.

“I said, stop,” he demands again and the air goes quiet. He takes a step even further, and now he can sense Alexander’s breath quickens and he’s gritting his teeth. He presses his hands against the wall to support himself under George and opens his lips slightly, gasping like he’s drowning.

In a second, George finds himself pressing against those lips, already open as if they’re waiting for his tongue to press in, and it does. It’s probably the last way he knows to stop Alexander Hamilton talking, George thinks idly when he pins Alexander into the wall. George can hardly remember what it felt like last time they kissed, but he’s sure that this is even better than that one. He tastes wine in Alexander’s mouth.

Alexander is frozen with surprise, just keeps his mouth open and lets George take what he wants relentlessly. When George comes to his senses, he stops.

“Wait, you want this, right?” George leans back and takes a careful look at Alexander in the dim light. Alexander’s lips are red and swollen, well-kissed. The boy looks even more amazing now. His eyes are dull. He seems too angry just then to understand what’s just happened. He blinks at George before he rises on his toes, grabs George’s neck and pulls him back roughly.

“Please, don’t stop.” His words are slurred when he tugs on the fabric greedily, nails digging into George’s shoulders. George’s hands find their way to Alexander’s waist. It’s so slender and delicate, as if he holds too tight, he’ll snap it. Only that George knows Alexander is nothing but delicate. He is strong like weeds.

“You got no idea how much I  _don’t_ want to stop,” he mutters to Alexander’s expectantly opened mouth, “How much I want you. How much I love you.” He drags his fingertip slowly over Alexander’s bottom lip, playfully, gets it wet with the saliva, and presses down the soft flesh. He is appreciating the picture created by himself like a piece of art, when he feels Alexander’s stare searing on his skin, too. 

He presses his finger into Alexander’s mouth. It must be painfully slow for Alexander because the boy moans around his finger desperately. Alexander takes him so well, so skilled, as if he would rather it’s something else in his mouth. George sucks in a breath when he feels Alexander’s tongue swirling around his finger. His cock stirs. It’s almost too much. He wants to have the boy right now in the hallway, pressing Alexander against the wall, ass sticking out in the air proudly. Or maybe having Alexander kneel down before him and giving Alexander the  _thing_ he wants. But there’ll be time for that. Now, his job is to kiss his boy with all the love and care he holds for him. It’s an apology, to show how sorry he is.

George withdraws his finger before he leans in for a kiss, and that’s when everything changes.

Loud thumps come from the door. Someone is banging on the door. Alexander flinches at the noise back to the wall. His face turns pale with shock. George remembers that the boy gets panicked hearing things that sound like a bomb after the war. Most of the time, Alexander manages to cover it up. He has no reason to keep pretending now, so George can see the fear right through his eyes. Even though it’s just an instant before he regains his composure. The gears in his head soon come back to work.

Alexander goes over to have a peek at the visitor outside the door and there is a sudden realization. When he comes back, he doesn’t seem in the mood for an explanation. He looks anxious.

“Go,” he whispers, but the tension in his voice is undeniable, “Now. Use the backdoor. You can’t be seen here.”

George fully understands how bad it would look like if they’re caught, whether politically or romantically, or even criminally.

He is about to turn on his heel, when Alexander adds, “You should know, I won’t regret this, no matter what happens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you expect to happen next, what you want to see in the next few chapters. I’m considering writing about Martha and more about Jefferson.


	5. Say No to This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see, that was my wife who you decided to fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The musical skips the part where they found the check stubs in We Know through Jacob Clingman and Frederick Muhlenberg. Just informing you in case you didn’t read Chernow.

Alexander has got to say, he’s not experienced in this. He’s experienced in flirting, not actual adultery, so he’s not prepared when Mr. Reynolds shows up.

Before he actually meets the mystery Mr. Reynolds, he has even doubted his existence. However, it becomes very clear when he finds James Reynolds standing on his doorstep, banging the door and cursing and shouting, in the silence of the night. ‘You see, that was my wife who you decided to fuck!’ ‘You made the wrong sucker a cuckold!’

Yes, Alexander did think of the possibility that Maria might want something from him, but due to his lack of experience, he didn’t expect it would go that far. That dramatic. Alexander’s life has always been dramatic, though, ever since he was born.

He opens the door after he makes sure Washington is gone. Reynolds bursts in, with a bottle in his hand, clearly drunk. He strides around the house, searching for his wife. It reminds Alexander of the little island in the Caribbean Sea, where the streets are filled with vulgar seamen, roaming along the streets, angry and drunk. It’s like a nightmare.

He reaches to somewhere on the wall, and a pistol appears in his hand. He loads it as he did more than a thousand times.

“Sir, this is my private property. Please get out.”

Reynolds glances at him with scorn. “Well, you’ve already violated my private property when you mess with my wife. I won’t leave without her.” His voice is coarse and uncompromising. “I knew she was up to something lately, so I followed her here, and look what I’ve found. How could she do this to me? After all I’ve done for her, working so hard to support the family.” He looks more furious than frustrated. Cliché for a man mistreating his wife. “I know you are a man of honor and I expect you to be generous to people like me, down on their luck. Just give my wife back.”

Alexander was a marksman in the army and he’s killed enough men to know that he won’t hesitate if he’s gonna pull the trigger, even though he hasn’t had a loaded gun in his hand since the war ended. If Maria didn’t come downstairs all of sudden, Alexander would have shot Reynolds dead by now.

Alexander glances up, bewildered. Maria descends the stairs elegantly, with her shoes clicking on the wood. She is as fully dressed as she was when she came in, except for a letter she’s holding.

“James, I’m here. I’ve got it.” She flaunts the parchment in her hand, goes straight to her husband, and gives it to him.

What the fuck is happening? Alexander shouts in his head. Of course, he’s done nothing to Maria. He just welcomed her in and gave her thirty bucks that he had socked away. His original plan was to send Maria off as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t have lied to the president. When Maria got here, it was already very late, and she insisted on staying for a while. She said she wanted to have a talk, she needed someone to vent to, and she was helpless. They had tea and had some chat, and soon Washington came. Alexander hurried downstairs to answer the door and left Maria in his office.

What’s all this?

Reynolds takes the letter and scrutinizes it in the light of the candle brought down by Maria. It is impossible to mistake the handwriting, flowing and elegant. Of course, Alexander can recognize the handwriting of his own. It can’t be easily forged.

What the fuck?

Alexander feels himself shuddering. He’s got no idea what’s happening and all he can do is watch Reynolds read the letter with a disgusting grin across his face.

 _Think. Just calm down and think._ Alexander takes a deep breath.

_First thing first. A letter. What letter?_

Alexander tries to make out the opening line from the distance and there is no name. Right. He knows which letter it is now, and it’s not an actual letter. There’s no recipient and there’s no sender. Great. It’s worse. Alexander is now even closer to a panic attack.

_Stop this. You can panic later, but you need to figure this out first. Next question, how did Maria get the letter?_

The letter should be locked in the desk of his office along with all the other letters he wrote years ago. Those letters were never sent, because he never intended to send them. He wrote them secretly with no address and no signature, but it’s still his own handwriting.

Maybe he forgot to lock the drawer. He’s been in low spirits recently and that leads to a high risk of making mistakes. Or maybe he did lock and Maria just happens to know how to pick a lock. Either way, Maria did go through his drawers on purpose.

_Good. Now, why did she do that?_

Because she needs evidence.

Because it’s a setup. Her whole story is a setup. The truth hits him dizzy. Is he that easy to fool? Jefferson, he can handle. Jefferson is a leader of a party at least, even though he looks like an idiot. Maria, he can’t. Now even a young girl can set him up. Alexander might be a master of setting a trap in a battle, but he’s definitely also a master of getting oneself into a trap. He saw it coming and he played into his enemies’ hands because he is Alexander Hamilton and he does what he does.

_Stop pitying yourself. Focus on the present._

Okay... So Maria needs evidence to prove that Alexander is having an affair with her. She wrote him nasty letters and she naturally expected Alexander would reply with something similar. It’ll be even better if there is no name or signature. _That man is such a coward that he doesn’t even dare to send the letter. How pathetic he is that he can only fantasize by himself._ (That’s pretty much true, in some way.) Or, maybe she didn’t expect there would be a letter, but there’s no harm in having a try. The sooner she gets evidence, the sooner she can end this game. She wants to get the job done the sooner the better. Maybe the game isn’t out of her free will. She’s coerced. She showed him the bruises on her arms and told him that her husband was beating her.

It all comes together now. Alexander has this theory, but he still doesn’t know how to get himself out of it. It’s definitely not an option to tell the couple for whom the letter was really written. His ears are buzzing and he bites his lip, trying to keep his composure.

“Like I said,” Reynolds says, after briefly browsing through the parchment in his hand, “I know you are a man of honor and you are not looking for trouble. Thus, as long as you pay the piper for the pants you unbuckled, I won’t breathe a word. You can even keep seeing my whore wife if the price is right.” He narrows his eyes and smirks, like a wolf finally shows his fangs.

“And if I’m not paying you anything?” Alexander swallows and chews on his lower lip again.

“Simple, I'm telling your wife.”

No harm in asking, anyway. He’s trapped here and it’s impossible to get out. They’ve already got the letter and there’s no way he can snatch it back.

Unless he kills them both with the gun in his hand and dumps the bodies in the river.

_No! That’s ridiculous. You need something practical._

His mind is blank with terror. He doesn’t even need to guess what will happen if the letter gets out. His whole life will be ruined and so will Washington’s. Neither Maria nor Reynold took a careful look at the contents of the letter. Can’t blame them. The letter is simply too filthy to read seriously. Alexander’s cheeks are already burning at the thought of it. But if they bother to actually read it, they will probably find those words, obscene but beautiful, aren’t written for Maria.

_You can’t just let them leave with that letter!_

But there’s nothing he can do. He can’t breathe and he can’t think. His heart is hammering so loud that he can hear it echoing in the air.

He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. He gazes at the parchment in Reynolds’s hand as if he could get it back by staring. Reynolds notices it and a grin spreads across his face. He watches Alexander’s eyes as he folds the letter carefully to put it in his coat.

“Sorry to bother you so late, sir. I’m leaving now. Maria will let you know where to send your check.” Reynolds bows his head with fake respect.

He brushes past Alexander as he leaves, and there’s nothing Alexander can do but stand still and grit his teeth.

He knows he has screwed this up. He knows he did this all to himself. Someone wins and someone loses, but at the end of the day, Alexander is the idiot that thought he would have it all and ends up losing it all. He always assumes he’s the smartest one in the room and that’s how he gets himself into a disaster every time.

The couple has already gone and leaves Alexander staring at the spot they were once standing, still in shock. He’s fucked. Totally fucked.

Alexander wakes up in the morning and finds it still very early. He’s never been a morning person but he finds out the reason when he hears the knocks at the door. He dresses himself and goes downstairs. It must be quite urgent or the one beating at the door is just past patiently waiting for him to wake up.

“Okay, okay, I’m here,” he shouts over the loud noises and hurries to open the door. It’s Maria. “Where are you here?” He frowns. “Was I not clear enough? I don’t want you. Don’t let me see you again near my place.”

He thought when he woke up, he would find what happened last night was a nightmare. None of it had happened. He had never known a girl called Maria. Even if that means Washington had never kissed him, it’ll be worth it.

He is about to shut the door when Maria reaches out to block him and comes in without an invitation. “We need to talk,” she says, in an inarguable voice.

Alexander raises a brow and says nothing. Maria finds herself comfortable on the couch and motions for Alexander to sit across from her.

“You need to listen to what I’ve got to say,” she begins, “because I’m gonna save your life. I admit, though, I’m the reason why you’re in this situation. When I’m finished, I’m going to leave as soon as I can if you want.”

Alexander fidgets in his chair and doesn’t know how to respond, so Maria continues, “When I got home last night and I had another look at the letter.”

Oh, she finds out now, finally. “Why would you do that? You’ve already got what you want.”

“Well,” Maria mumbles and she is the one upset now, avoiding eye contact with Alexander, “I got curious. A girl is always interested in a love letter a man writes to her, especially a charming gentleman like you, sir.”

“Uh... Thank you?” Alexander smiles dryly, but he feels his obligation to ease the tension in the air at the sight of Maria blushing slightly.

“Please, don’t take it as flattery. I’m just saying that I enjoy being admired by men, idiots like you. No offense. That’s what I thought before I finished reading the letter.”

“Uh-huh? What did you find out?” He has learned to be careful, though it seems a bit late.

“I would say the letter is rather implicit, and it’s obscene, sure, but a girl can at least make out that it’s not written for a woman. But I had no idea who you wrote it for, since I know little about your personal life.”

“What’s the difference? It’s still a piece of evidence you can use to blackmail me.”

“The president,” Maria ignores him and continues without missing a beat. Alexander feels the blood in his veins freeze at that moment. “Yeah, I heard it. You said you had a visitor and it was work and you told me to stay quiet in your office. Who talks about work that late at night? I didn’t hear exactly what you two said but I heard you call him Mr. President.”

Alexander thinks he’s going to pass out when Maria adds, “Unfortunately, I told my husband about that on our way home. I didn’t think too much. I just thought it was weird and the information could be useful, you know, politically. But I see it now, the pieces all fit together.” She’s clever, cleverer than he thought.

“And your husband?”

“Not yet. He hasn’t figured it out. I’m here to tell you that I’m out. James and I can’t play this game anymore. It becomes too big, completely out of hand. We are just two poor citizens trying to make some money. It becomes too dangerous for us. It’s one thing to have an affair with a politician and it’s another thing to have evidence of a felony in our hands. The funny thing is, James has the evidence to send the two most powerful men in our nation to the gallows and he had no idea about it himself. He _will_ get himself killed! He still wants to blackmail while he can’t even save his own life!”

“Why are you telling me this?” If they are so sacred, why can’t they just pretend that nothing happened?

“Will you really believe that we didn’t find out the truth if I didn’t come here today? You might not kill us yourself, but someone will. I have to stop my husband from getting us both murdered before it’s too late. I won’t let him drag me down with him. I’d be glad if James leaves me alone, but I’m well aware that I can’t stay out of this if he gets into trouble. But, we can still do something, you and I. As long as we keep pretending, James will believe that you’re having an affair with _me_ , and no one will suspect the president.”

From what Alexander knows of Maria, she can be a tough woman when she needs to be, but now she seems to have lost all her strength. She’s probably telling the truth, but if not, Alexander is walking into another trap. It can work, actually. He can pay Reynolds the money and meet Maria once in a while to convince him, but it also means more risks to be caught and more evidence to be handed to Reynolds on a plate.

“Why don’t you just give the letter back to me?” he says, after taking a deep breath, “Then Reynolds will have no evidence and no one will believe him.”

“That wouldn’t be that simple. James went out this morning and that’s the only reason why I could come to you behind his back. He went to see a friend called... Jacob Clingman? You probably don’t know him. He once worked for Frederick Muhlenberg.” And Frederick Muhlenberg, the House Speaker, works for Jefferson. He’s on Jefferson’s team. “James would give Clingman a copy and he would keep the original one to himself.”

Her voice is white noise to him now. He’s glad that he chose to sit in a chair because, otherwise, he’ll faint and fall on the floor.

It’s late. It’s already been too late. Word has already got out, even though a copy can’t be used as evidence. Rumors never need evidence. They just need to _claim_ that the letter belongs to him. If there is a copy out there, God knows who will have access to it and who will read it carefully enough and happens to know both Washington and Alexander personally. At least, Madison and Jefferson, they are clever enough to crack his code. If they track this down, they’ll find Reynolds and Reynolds will tell them Washington came to his place that night. That’s all they need.

“Fine,” Maria sighs, “I’ll steal the original copy back and burn it but the other one is left to you.” As if Alexander knows how to deal with it, which he doesn’t. There’s nothing he can do about Jefferson. “And... There won’t be much for you to do, you know, pretending to be with me. You don’t need to write me letters or even see me again, probably. You just need to give James the money. I know it’s a lot for a government official like you, but we don’t have a choice.”

Alexander is out of breath when he arrives at his office. He’s late today after the talk with Maria and what’s worse, he finds Washington sitting behind his desk, playing with his quill. Alexander doesn’t like people touching his stuff but Washington has always been an exception to everything in his life. The quill being rubbed by those thick fingers is... He’d rather be that quill in Washington’s hand at the moment.

Washington’s secretary happens to be on his way out when Alexander walks in.

“Sorry, I’m just leaving. He wants to see you,” says the secretary.

Alexander never really likes that guy. He’s creepy sometimes, smirking like he knows everything. Washington insists on hiring him and says he’s been a good help to him. Alexander may have just been jealous. The secretary is younger than him, prettier, with more shining eyes, and he has more time to spend with Washington. Alexander sees the irony that he once hated to be Washington’s secretary, and now he is jealous of the guy working as Washington’s secretary. For some reason, Alexander thinks the guy would be Washington’s type, which is... a younger version of Alexander himself. Okay, now he sees why the secretary looks so creepy to him. He just has too much similarity to that young lieutenant colonel in the Continental Army for his own sake, while Alexander is no longer the trim and skinny feral tomcat, thanks to beer and the sedentary lifestyle.

Alexander forces a smile at him and turns to his boss.

“You asked to see me, sir?”

“You’re late,” Washington says, coldly. He stands up, walks around the room, and lights the candles. That’s weird, considering it’s broad daylight. Alexander frowns, but he’s in no position to question the president’s personal behavior.

“Yeah. Something needs to be taken care of.” He sees Washington every day at his work, but it’s never been like this. His heartbeat speeds up merely at the sight of Washington. Washington dominates Alexander’s office simply by appearing in it and that makes Alexander feel so... small. Like Washington is his master, and his space is his master’s space.

Alexander doesn’t even dare to look up to meet Washington’s eyes. Maybe what happened last night is just a part of the nightmare and now is the time to wake up.

“Lock the door,” Washington says, voice perfectly even, as if he’s just telling him to do him chores. Alexander silently obeys. “Was everything all right last night?” Something changes in that voice the moment the door shuts. Alexander looks up tentatively and... Oh my gosh. Those eyes. Dark and soft, looking at him with all the love and care. They make his heart tremble. Alexander lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He finally gets to know what’s behind that mask.

“It’s nothing,” he smiles dryly. “Already taken care of.”

“You don’t need to hide anything from me. You know it, right? If you don’t want to talk about it, just say that you don’t. There’s no need to lie to me.” The voice is powerful, stiff, and inarguable, as it always is, expect the power in it belongs to Alexander now. Just like Alexander belongs to Washington. The statement makes that clear to him. He doesn’t need to carry all the burden himself from now on because he can rely on Washington and Washington will take care of it for him. For the first time in his life, Alexander feels so safe. _No, he’ll leave you as they all did._

“There’s nothing you can do about it anyway,” he answers. For one thing, he doesn’t want to bother Washington with such a stupid thing. For another, it is stupid and he’s fucking too embarrassed to talk about it. Why did he even invite Maria in the first place? How can he explain that?

Washington raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Do you need me to kill somebody?”

Alexander’s not even sure if he’s kidding. “I thought I was the one better at it.” It’s a joke between them. Alexander would not question Washington’s military abilities in public, but in private, it’s quite the opposite, to some degree. Washington highly appreciated Alexander’s contribution to the war as his adviser.

Washington grunts and shows no interest in proceeding with the topic. The reason why he lit the candle becomes clear when he draws the curtain suddenly and the room falls into darkness. The next thing Alexander knows is that they’re standing in a warm glow surrounded by all the beautiful candles.

Washington beckons him over and as soon as Alexander gets close enough, he tugs at his clothes and pulls him to him. He starts to unbutton his clothes without a word. Alexander’s whole body is burning like hell the moment Washington’s fingertips brush the fabric. It’s scary to think that Washington can arouse him so easily, barely doing nothing, and Alexander is quivering like ripples in a pond.

He closes his eyes and begins to pray. _Lord, show me how to say no to this._

“Wait, sir...” It’s fucking working hours and they can’t just have sex in his office. All his staff is working outside and anyone could be listening to the noise that comes from this office. “You said I was late...” Late for what?

“Just keep it quiet,” Washington says, trying to undo a tough button on his coat. Then, “I can’t wait,” he whispers into Alexander’s ear.

Alexander opens his eyes in surprise. God, that baritone. It’s killing him. It strikes him like lightning and leaves him on fire. Strangely, the whisper reminds him of Jefferson and Madison at the meeting that day. That intimacy he was jealous of. And, oh, speaking of Jefferson.

“But Jefferson...” They should stop this while they still can. The more time they spend together, the higher the likelihood of arousing suspicion. Someone will put the pieces together. They’ve already got the letter and all they need now is find a person that Alexander is _probably_ having an affair with. All they need is a look, a smile, a wink.

Alexander can literally feel that all the muscles in Washington’s body stiffen at the name. The button he’s been working on is ripped off by accident. Shit, it’s like Alexander’s own head would be ripped off next. Shamefully, it only turns on him more.

_I don’t know how to say no to this._

“What about Jefferson? Why are you talking about him?” The irritation in his voice is unmistakable and a shiver races up Alexander’s spine. The hand clutching his shoulder is like a talon and makes him hiss.

“Stop. You’re hurting me.”

Seeing his knitted brows, Washington’s face softens immediately. “Sorry. I’ll never make you feel uncomfortable again, I promise. Just... Forget about Jefferson. Focus on this.” He goes back to undo the other buttons one by one. _Fuck, no no no, don’t go back. Don’t be gentle._

“I... actually...” He opens his mouth hesitantly. “... like it, I mean, when you’re angry at me, sir.”

“Hmm?” Washington looks up to meet his eyes. Alexander gasps when he finds Washington’s eyes dark with want. “You like it?” he says, while yanking another button off his coat.

“Yes,” he says, takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes, “I want you to rip all the expensive fabric off me to destroy my pride until I’m left with nothing, naked and shameless like a slut,” a beat, “for you.”

“For me,” Washington repeats. Alexander feels both of his hands are held out to tear his jacket and waistcoat apart at the same time. Then the shirt. And the undershirt. And cravat. And the breeches. And the socks and the shoes. Until he’s left with nothing. He is nothing. It’s like a storm and Alexander keeps his eyes closed and stands straight and still. He just allows it to happen to him and lets more of his skin be exposed in the air piece by piece. Like a good slut. Cloth being torn and buttons falling on the floor sound like music to him and he doesn’t even care to know how to get home with his clothes ruined in every possible way.

_So let the world burn and we’ll be together. Screw Jefferson. Screw the letter._

He opens his eyes to see the shreds on the floor and the darkness in Washington’s eyes. His dick is standing proudly against his stomach. He’s never felt so exposed, fully on display. Washington has taken a step back, crossing his arms and scrutinizing him like a sculptor assessing his work. What makes it more obscene is the contrast that while Alexander is entirely nude, Washington is fully dressed, from cravat to shoes. He’s not even missing a button on his coat.

“You don’t need to call me sir in private, though I like it very much when you call me that,” Washington says as he reaches out and guides Alexander to bend over the desk with his hand on the back of Alexander’s neck. “I suggest you think of something more appropriate.”

“Er... George?” he asks as his chest hits the cold surface of the desk.

“No hurry,” Washington says as he takes a small bottle out of his pocket. Guess he’s not quite satisfied with that.

A hand traces from his hips to his inner thighs and sends another wave of quivers through his body. Another hand comes to spread his ass apart. Then both of those blessed hands disappear. Before Alexander gets impatient, fingers slick with oil press against his entrance and Alexander squeezes his eyes shut again. It all happens too fast and he’s dizzy with overwhelming bliss. He can’t even tell how many fingers inside him at the present. He shoves his fist into his mouth to suppress the urge to scream. The sound is stifled to a desperate low moan and Alexander is writhing across the desk. Washington did tell him to keep quiet but never said that would be easy. Those fingers, those long, thick, and strong fingers he’s been fantasized about, are stirring inside him, brushing against the sensitive spot, and stretching him roughly. He can’t believe this is really happening. It must hurt the way Washington’s other hand is grasping his ass cheek but he can’t feel anything now except the pleasure.

_Lord, show me how to say no to this._

“Oh, God, pleasepleaseplease. I’m ready and I need your cock, sir,” he begs as he’s pathetically clenching around the fingers and pushing back to them.

Deep chuckles come from behind him and make him feel more degraded. It’s amazing how he wants to be degraded by Washington.

The fingers are soon taken out, as if their owner gets impatient too. Alexander opens his eyes to have a look at what the man pulls out of his breeches but his eyes are covered by a warm, broad hand.

“Close your eyes, my naughty boy.” The voice is mild but so deep and coarse that Alexander can barely recognize it.

_Say no to this! No! No!_

Alexander nods submissively as much as he can with his head pressed on the wood. Something hard and huge is dragged along the crease of his ass. That’s uh... He did expect the size and he didn’t expect _that_. The hand pressing on the back of his neck is the only reason he didn’t get up and flee. His body tenses at the expectation and the man stops.

“Alex...” The voice is shaking now. The man apparently can’t bear to be rejected after all this but he has to ask.

_Say no to this! No! No!_

“It’s...” Alexander swallows, “nothing. Keep going, please. Sir.” He’s a whimpering mess with Washington’s perfect cock against his rim. It’s too late to say no to this now.

“Right. Tell me when it’s too much.” With no response after a while, he adds, “Promise me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Yes, I promise.” _Dad,_ Alexander mutters silently in annoyance.

Alexander bites down into his arm to muffle his cry as the cock pushes in. It’s not gentle or slow or caring. It’s harsh, relentless, brutal, speeding up and going deeper with every intrusion. And he needs more. Alexander curves his toes trying not to push back. Not that he can with those hands digging into the soft skin of his neck and hips and pinning him exactly where their owner needs him to be. With Washington pounding into him, ruthless and unforgiving, everything turns to white-noise static.

The desk is shaking with all the books and reports and quills and ink, and it becomes a disaster. The whole world is shaking crazily. It would be a miracle if nobody hears them. But apparently, Washington doesn’t care. Lost in his own enjoyment, oblivious of the world outside. God, he has even forgotten Alexander. Those fingers gripping his body will surely leave him with bruises of all colors and the way he’s hitting on the edge of the desk will also leave imprints on his stomach. Alexander would rather be ignored now, with his hair a mess around his face and saliva a puddle on some financial report he wrote yesterday. He’s disgusting. He wants more.

“Please. Harder. Please. I need you, Daddy.”

He doesn’t know what he’s said but the cock inside him stops for a beat. “Say that again,” the man growls.

“Daddy?” Did he just say that?

The thrusts return viciously and become harder if that’s even possible. “Do you know how pathetic you are? You said you didn’t want me to call you son and here you are, begging like a hungry whore, ready to say anything to please me.” The voice is even more ragged as if it doesn’t belong to that reserved man he has always been.

_Yes!_

“I am pathetic. I told you I didn’t want to be your son but I always call you dad in my dreams.” He moans loudly as another thrust hits directly at that spot inside him.

“Shh...” The man asks him to be quiet but his cock is doing the opposite of keeping him quiet. Alexander obeys anyway.

Alexander didn’t expect himself to be that unabashed to tell Washington about this. It’s not just in his dreams. Back in the war, there were several times when he nearly called Washington father by mistake. Washington has always been like a father to him, guiding him, protecting him, and it’s just his self-esteem didn’t allow himself to acknowledge that. He has no shame now, though, laying out under the man, begging to be fucked.

He can barely stand on his legs with his legs shaking so badly, or breathe, under the pressure of Washington’s hand. “Daddy,” he chocks out. Somehow, Washington gets what he means. The grip on his neck softens and a hand comes around his stomach to hold him up. It pulls him up, letting that big cock sink deeper in him. Alexander nearly fails to stifle his moan when the fingers skim over his cock. A wave of ecstasy flows over him. He didn’t notice how hard he was until now.

“Daddy, I need you. I need you to use me. Use me for your own pleasure. Fuck me till I forget my damn name. Break me with those amazing hands...” He trails off when fingers thread through his hair. He hums under the soft touch. He always takes extra care for his hair, and Eliza often jokes that he spends more time on his hair than she does. It’s smooth and soft like silk, though it’s kind of a mess now. Washington plays with his hair, twins it around his fingers, and strokes him like a cat. And...

Shit. Eliza. Now that he thinks of Eliza, he realizes he’s completely forgotten her these days. Forgotten his wife. Forgotten the fact that he still has a wife. Since the meeting, since he got himself into this game, all he’s been thinking about was how to get Washington’s attention. He was worried about what would happen if the public knew that Washington bedded with a man or the treasury secretary was fucking with the president, but what about Eliza? It has never crossed his mind what would happen if Eliza found out he was having an affair with someone else. He was even relieved when Reynolds accused him of sleeping with Maria. He never thought of the fact that, Maria or Washington, cheating is cheating. He didn’t _want_ to think of it.

Eliza knew about John, but John didn’t live long after their marriage and Alexander didn’t have intercourse with men or women after that, other than Eliza. Nothing can excuse such misbehavior.

What the fuck has he done? And what he’s doing right now, with a cock still buried so deep inside him. He feels sick and disgusted.

His body freezes and he realizes he’s weeping, tearing rolling down his cheeks and wetting the document underneath. Then he realizes it stops. The world stops shaking.

“Alex, you okay?” A voice comes from above and it sounds like it comes from another world or Alexander is drowning in the water. Maybe actually he is, drowning in his tears.

_Stay? Hey..._

“No,” he groans, “Don’t stop. Pull my hair and fuck me hard. More. I need more, Daddy.” Just keep fucking me and make me forget. Forget his wife, their wives. Forget the whole fucking world outside this room. Let them all burn and you’ll keep fucking me like I’m nothing but a tool for your pleasure.

_I am ruined. I am helpless. How could I do this?_

He knows he’s ruined, but he needs to forget the guilt and the despair and the pain in his chest. He needs to forget what he’s done by doing it more. He wants Washington to hold him in his arms so tight that he can pretend the world outside doesn’t exist. The soft caress in his hair becomes a yank suddenly and his neck is contorted at an impossible angle. His air is cut off in that moment and so are the thoughts swirling in his head. Everything seems so simple with the pain buzzing down his spine, and the fear of suffocation, and the pure ecstasy of being so helpless, of being entirely in the hands of another person, of being nothing. He’s utterly defenseless, open for Washington to do anything to him, and Washington has no mercy. He’s ruthless and he just takes what he wants and leaves nothing but ashes behind. Alexander has never felt so empty and yet so full. Being taken up and used so completely and yet so abandoned.

A huge hand wraps around his cock and strokes him with a clear aim to let him come. It’s almost like a command, and Alexander obeys, after several strokes, into that hand. He’s probably moaning, or choking, or screaming, but he doesn’t know. The aftershocks rolls through him and there’s nothing but tranquility for a moment. Washington comes soon after him, burying his head into the crook of Alexander’s neck and panting heavily. The last thing he knows is that he’s sobbing weakly in Washington’s arms, before he blacks out.

When he wakes up, he’s sitting on Washington’s laps, snuggling up to his neck. A large-sized shirt is draped over his shoulders. Seemingly, Washington got his own shirt somewhere for him.

“Daddy?” he asks, sheepishly.

“Sorry,” Washington says and looks at him with brows furrowed. “I hope I didn’t hurt you so badly. You should know that I’m not usually like this. I don’t know what happened to me and it’s like I’m no longer myself.” Washington says and Alexander looks at him with a knowing grin. _Oh, I know what happened._ ** _I_** _happened._ Washington seems relieved with Alexander’s smile. He pulls Alexander tighter in his arms and drops a kiss on Alexander’s forehead. “You’re so good to me, baby girl. You’re as good as they said.”

Who are ‘they’? Oh, right. As Alexander comes to his senses, he remembers he had a reputation in the army, mainly because he slept with so many soldiers and officers that he simply deserved a reputation of some kind. Now, he can’t help but imagine how desperate Washington must have been when he heard soldiers talking about how good his aide was in bed and couldn’t resist picturing it himself. How good the boy he desired was when they fucked him. _If_ Washington desired him back then. Alexander wants to ask, but there’s something more urgent.

“There is something I want to ask,...sir?” Alexander feels the body beneath him tighten at the change of tone.

“What is it?” The voice is as soft as it can be, but it doesn’t help the hesitance in Alexander’s voice.

“You and Mrs. Washington, sir...”

“Right,” Washington interrupts him, “Martha and I have an... arrangement, but I don’t think that’s the case between you and Eliza. Am I correct?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware that I don’t like writing about Alex cheating on Eliza because of Wash, but I have to because otherwise, I won’t be able to explain why Eliza doesn’t know the truth in Chapter 1, or in the song Burn. Please keep in mind this is not an AU, but a different interpretation of history. That means what happened in history will happen in this fiction, but what was claimed to happen may not happen here.


	6. The Death of Us All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is a big day for Muhlenburg because he’s going to change his life by finding the first, real scandal of Hamilton. History will remember him for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it’s a bit late but I hope I can update the next chapter sooner because I’ve already finished a part of it.

There isn’t much to do to be the Secretary of State, mostly putting your feet on your desk and lying in your chair. Humming to yourself in an empty office and browsing through the newspapers published by men as they all line up to praise you like a god. Life is perfect and it would be even better without an arrogant kid called Hamilton. Or, with Hamilton? As Aaron Burr said to him, if he could get Hamilton on his side, that would be... If he could, he’d rather get Hamilton in his bed.

Thomas is broken out of his reverie by a thump on his door when Madison storms in, waving a newspaper in his hand, and throws it in Thomas’s face. Thomas pulls his legs back onto the floor and leans forward to take a look at the title. _Gazette of the United States_. A paper that belongs to the Federalists, and that means Thomas never reads it.

“What?” He raises an eyebrow to Madison.

“Of course,” Madison snorts, “of course you haven’t read it. Every literate man or woman in this goddamn city has read it except you. You always spend your day reading the papers that are basically written by yourself. What’s the point of that? I can never understand why you would do such nonsense. Shouldn’t you spend more time on the other papers instead so you can learn about your enemies?”

“No,” Thomas protests, “No, I don’t write them myself. I just tell them the main idea and I won’t know whether they have done their job, which I paid them for, if I don’t read the papers.” Still, he looks down and starts the article pointed out by Madison.

_‘...Rumor has it that there was a deal made backstage considering the recent events, the passing of the Residence Act and the Treasury Secretary’s assumption scheme. Our sources have confirmed it. It is said that, nevertheless, it will be absurd if Congressman Madison accepts it. The deal is completely unfair. It’s evident that though obstacles and delays will frequently stand in the way of the adoption of good measures, yet when once adopted, they are likely to be stable and permanent. It will be far more difficult to undo than to do. The federal government now has almost all the taxes throughout the country in its hand, which makes the capital irrelevant...’_

Rage is boiling in his stomach as Thomas snaps to his feet, and he almost hits Madison’s head as the man hunches over the desk across from him. 

“Jesus, Thomas—” 

“This is outrageous! He lied to me! Alexander fucking Hamilton is a fucking liar! It was a setup!” He roars and he screams, he pulls his curls and shreds the paper into pieces but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t help the way his body set aflame by the fury of making such a stupid mistake. It doesn’t help the way his stomach is filled with hatred caused by being cheated. It doesn’t help the way his heart aches because Hamilton, of all people, cheated him. Hamilton, who played innocent to arouse his compassion and steal his heart. Who used him and scrounged him and plundered him and drained him and dumped him into the river. He chose him to rob because he knew the affection Thomas held for him. 

Madison seems content with the sight he causes. “The article is unsigned,” he takes a step backward and reminds Thomas, voice even, “but we all know who wrote it.”

The manner of Hamilton has always been so obvious that he just never  _needs_ to sign his work. In fact, the three of them have agreed to keep the dinner deal secret and Hamilton is not that stupid to acknowledge it openly, at least not so quickly. James  _knows_ that for sure because he wrote it. 

He wrote the article himself in Hamilton’s manner, in defense of the Federalists, while his true intention was to let everybody know it was Alexander Hamilton who leaked it out first. So it won’t be James Madison. So it won’t look like an enemy making up a story to destroy Hamilton’s reputation. To make it look more authentic, he quoted sentences from Hamilton himself. How influential the assumption scheme might be has been elaborated by Hamilton in his report, his lobbying, and his articles over and over again. It’s just Jefferson has never actually paid attention to them, until now when James forces him to listen by disguising as Hamilton. The truth is, Hamilton has never lied to Jefferson. It is Jefferson who has always been blind to the truth laid out right there before him.

“He’s...” Jefferson is laughing like crazy. “He is showing off. You see? He’s showing off. He’s won that already but he still needs to show it off. As if he’s afraid someone hasn’t known it yet. That egotist, narcissistic bitch.”

“It’s not just Hamilton,” James shakes his head and says, “He’s not that smart. Plus, Washington is Virginian, so...”

The man claimed that he was sick and dying but recovered soon after the passing of the two bills. He would be the one who got everything he wanted without losing anything in return. On the man’s doorstep, Jefferson met Hamilton disheveled like he had just climbed out of the president’s bed. 

Now Jefferson can finally put the pieces together. It was the president who was pulling the strings behind the scene and instructed Hamilton to lure Jefferson. Who made the arrogant bastard, who would bend to no one and would allow nothing to stain his integrity, beg for compromise and bat those pretty lashes like the cheapest whore in the city. James needs Jefferson to understand that Washington is the one who’s playing Hamilton like a fiddle and Jefferson is just another pathetic fool falling under Hamilton’s spell. And James, he will be the angel who’s going to save Jefferson from the darkness, from all the pains and humiliations.

The expression on Jefferson’s face has had a dramatic change from anger, hatred, to jealousy, and to fear. He ends up falling back into the chair, shivering and murmuring to himself, staring at the shreds in his hands. 

Jefferson had heard about rumors from the vets that came back to France after the war. Rumors about the buggery in the army as a common occurrence, about the  _famous_ aide-de-camp of the General, about the General himself. Jefferson could never hold a candle to the General, who has always been so powerful and so self-assured that you can simply feel it by the way he stands and sits. How powerful one must feel to possess such an unyielding man as Hamilton and possess him so thoroughly...

“Hey,” James snaps his fingers at Jefferson and says, “Wake up, Thomas. We still have work to do. We need to make a statement. It’s no good denying the existence of the dinner deal itself now, but we can be the first to comment on it. If we make our voice heard first, we can take control of the direction of the wind. We can scapegoat Hamilton, paint him as the villain who betrayed his city and humiliated his fellow citizens and he would be the liar who tricked us into the trap. A schemer, a monarchist, a traitor to our republic. As it’s your field of expertise, I shall leave it to you.” As the drafter of the Declaration of Independence, Jefferson is quite a writer.

“Right!” Jefferson’s dull eyes come back to life again, as a characteristic grin grows across his face. “He begged me. He cried and begged me like a cheap whore. Imagine how the Federalists will react when they hear that, about their leader, their hero, and their savior. All I need is to write down the truth I saw, what happened exactly that day outside Washington’s mansion.” He hurries to grab his quill and parchment and starts writing fiercely, anger burning in his eyes.

James’s plan has worked. He takes in a deep breath and a step back. He tries to calm himself down as he prays that he hasn’t gone too far.

It’s not that he wants it to come to this. Not that it would be easy for him to see two men, one he loves and the other he once loved, fight against each other. It’s complicated. He should be content with the result but he’s scared of it at the very same time. 

He would allow Hamilton to have his assumption scheme because he understands not only why Hamilton needs it but why the country needs it. He was aware they had already got the capital in their pocket but it wouldn’t hurt to give the assumption bill to Hamilton as a gift. He said ‘We’ll see how it goes’ and he didn’t mean the whole financial system that Hamilton could shape however he wanted. The power of a government should always be strictly reined in, and now, Alexander Hamilton, along with his treasury department, is precisely a wild horse without reins. And a horse without reins will end up hurting everyone, including himself. 

As Hamilton’s former confidant, James doesn’t want him hurt. 

He isn’t necessarily against Hamilton, personally, no matter what Hamilton thinks of him. But, for him, Jefferson always comes first, no matter what, and he needs to tear Jefferson’s eyes off Hamilton.

Aaron runs into Madison in Jefferson’s doorway. Madison makes no secret of his surprise at seeing Aaron here as he pauses for a second before he turns back into the office.

“Why are you here?” Jefferson asks and shares a look with Madison.

“I want to be in the room where it happens,” Aaron answers, briefly.

He feels scrutinized by the man behind the desk. Jefferson has a trust issue considering what happened recently but he would be glad to get Aaron on his side and now is the best time for it. Hamilton cheated Jefferson and if Jefferson turns a friend of his into his enemy, he can show him what it feels like to be betrayed. An eye for an eye. A friend for a friend.

Still, Jefferson looks hesitant and it’s understandable. Aaron is not a fan of boasting. No one knows who he is or what he does, even for Jefferson. Aaron is the opposite of Hamilton but somehow they’ve made up a perfect pair. But one thing they have in common is that they’re both reliable with the ladies, as it is said.

“So you turned us down and now, suddenly, you change your mind?” Jefferson smirks, trying to annoy Aaron but it won’t work. Aaron Burr is a man who can never be offended.

“And what’s wrong with that? The tide has changed and I always bet on the winner,” he smiles like a fox wagging his tail. “You’ll need someone endorsing you in the north and the election for New York State’s senator is upcoming. The New Yorkers will turn their backs on Hamilton after he has turned his back on them. Schuyler’s seat is up for grabs so why don’t I take it? Hamilton’s pride will be the death of us all and I am just trying to save my ass.”

If Hamilton could betray a city that once put him up on a pedestal as a hero, why can’t Aaron betray his best friend?

***

Washington orders a carriage to send Alexander home after dark, so no one will see them. Somehow Washington follows him into the carriage.

“I need to make sure you are okay,” Washington explains as he shuts the door.

“I’m perfectly fine except I’m half-naked, and you being in the same carriage with me only aggravates it,” he retorts.

It’s almost intolerable to be in a small carriage with a man as large as Washington. All the way home, they stare at each other in silence because they can do nothing in case the coachman hears something. Especially considering Washington now knows how loud Alexander can be. 

When they arrive and lock the door behind, they stand there, and with Washington’s body looming over him, Alexander’s legs buckle and he drops to his knees almost immediately.

“Alex, I—” Washington tries to find his words as Alexander frees his cock from his breeches. It doesn’t surprise him to find it already painfully hard from their trip in the carriage. That beautiful cock, so responsive and obedient to his call, the most, most precious thing he’s recently found in the world. It’s been less than a day and he misses it already.

“I need you daddy,” he gasps, letting Washington feel his hot breath against his cock in the cold air, “I need your big, perfect cock. I need to taste it.” He holds it in his hand like a gift, as if he’s a baby boy begging his father. He rubs the tip of his nose against its head. “Would you give me that honor, daddy?” He looks up to his daddy’s face through his lashes.

His daddy, well, is too ruined to get his word straight. Receiving no response, Alexander decides he’ll take it as a yes. He kisses down the shaft, worshiping the godlike cock and kneeling as a good servant should. He holds both his hands on to those strong thighs, hard like rocks, when he reaches the bottom of the length and licks the man’s stones, just lightly. It’s enough to make the man cry in desperation. It’s so obscene to bury himself into the dark curls at the president’s crotch and sniff the musky scent greedily, but it feels like home to him. Like this is exactly the place where he should be, and he’s made to serve, and his face, as perfect as they say about him, is made for no use but to be fucked by the man. 

Speaking of being fucked. “Would you like to fuck my mouth, daddy?” he asks and has another lick at the tip.

“I want... I want to take you, but properly, my boy. In a bed, I mean,” the man croaks like he has had a serious cold.

Oh. The desk this morning is not comfortable at all and it’s reasonable that the man wants somewhere soft for him.

“You mean... you want to do this in my bed.” He swallows. “Our bed.”

Washington soon realizes the problem. He steps back, pulling his dick back from Alexander’s hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to— If that bothers you, then—”

The man’s cock is still standing proudly against his stomach and Alexander swallows, again. He knows, with the hot desire churning in his stomach, he has no other choice to make.

“No, it doesn’t.” It’s a lie. “It’s just... my legs are too weak to walk upstairs.” That’s the truth. 

Washington lowers himself without hesitation and picks Alexander up like he weighs no more than a feather. He cradles him in his arms like a bride and moves towards the stairs as Alexander flushes and buries his face in the man’s coat like a maiden. It’s a bit shameful but lovely.

Washington puts him down carefully on the bed. Both of them hurry to get themselves out of their clothes. He takes in the man and realizes this is the first time he sees Washington nude, completely. It’s weird to see a man who you’ve been so familiar with and you’re still surprised by him.

There isn’t much time for him to admire the view because Washington is on top of him almost immediately. Kissing and touching and grinding. And it’s...

It’s been weeks since Eliza went back to Albany but the smell of the bed still reminds him of her. All he knows is that he needs Washington’s smell to cover it and make him forget where they are. The man doesn’t disappoint him. He’s drowning in the man as well as his own desire.

Washington slows himself down and stares at Alexander. Those dark eyes from above make Alexander feel so small.

“How would you like to have me, Daddy?” he asks, quietly. He can barely hear himself.

“Hmmm,” the man groans as he considers his options. Alexander feels like he’s a sheep scrutinized by a butcher, who’s chewing over how to slaughter him and cook him, and those thirsty eyes look like he’s going to devour him right now. He is a cornered prey and Washington sniffs along his body like a dog with meat.

Washington says nothing as he spreads out Alexander’s arms on the sheet with his hands and ushers his legs open, exposes every inch of his skin, so that he can display himself for his daddy. Alexander splays out his legs like a whore silently, and Washington pushes one of his legs up, bends his knee, and presses it against his stomach, presenting the last private part of his body for the man to inspect. Washington’s stare on him looks like he’s gonna drool on him.

“Such a good boy. You’d allow me to shape you however I want, wouldn’t you? Like a doll waiting to be dressed?”

Okay. He’s a doll, a marionette, and Washington is pulling Alexander’s strings into whatever may please him and he can even make sounds out of Alexander if he wishes. He can play him like a harp with his fingers flitting over him.

Now those fingers are massaging around his entrance and he curses under his breath.

“A good boy doesn’t curse.” Washington scolds him.

“Are you going to punish me?” Alexander teases as he rolls his hips onto the man’s clothed thighs.

“Huh.” The man chuckles.

It seems his daddy needs to tend his own needs first as he takes the bottle out of his pocket and coats his finger with oil. It’s much easier than the first time since Alexander has already been thoroughly fucked out earlier today, but it still surprises him as the huge dick pushes its way in.

“God, you are so big. So big inside me,” he whimpers as he feels his body stretching around the cock, which is despoiling him ruthlessly. He’s so full now, so full and...

“And you are so tight, my sweet boy,” he hears the man’s voice say. “Clutching and releasing around me like you are so desperate to please your daddy.” 

Alexander didn’t even notice what he’s doing until Washington mentions it. “I... I am desperate. It is  _my_ honor to serve you,” he says. “You know I want to put a crown on your head, right?”

The man grunts in annoyance. “Yes, but I won’t accept it.”

“You heard me when I said we should have a king in our country at the Constitutional Convention, right?” He tries to keep his voice steady as those hard thrusts make his whole body shake.

“No, you didn’t use the word King.”

“It was one thing to have a lifetime president in our Constitution but it was another to choose a title for him,” he says as thrusts send waves down his spine. 

“How we call him.” A thrust.

“How we dress him.” A thrust. 

“A crown means nothing itself,” a thrust, “and I think you’ll look magnificent in one.” Another. 

“I had dreams about that, you know.” Another. 

“Fucking me with a crown on your head.” And another.

“Shut up, Hamilton,” Washington growls, “You are not helping.”

“I doubt that,” he giggles and tries his luck. “Is that true, your Majesty?” They’ve spent so many years together that he knows the man well enough to see what may thrill him, even before he climbs into his bed. Washington hates the idea of being a king but it doesn’t mean it won’t turn him on to be worshiped like that by a partner in his bed. It turns Alexander on to be fucked by a king anyway, because he does want Washington to be their king.

Washington hits hard on that spot inside him and turns his words into moans.

“Now you’ve shut up, huh? You worthless slut?” The man snarls in the background of Alexander’s cries. “The only way to shut you up is to fuck hard on you and that’s what you’re looking for? Is this what you are? A tricky, dirty bitch?”

Alexander cries louder as the man starts thumping his ass. He doesn’t need to hold back in an empty house. He cries even harder when a broad hand wraps around his cock and strokes it. The heat building inside him is almost unbearable. 

He needs it. He needs it more and he needs it harder. He opens his eyes to see the beast hovering over him, full of power, sweat shining on his dark skin. Each thrust goes only harder but it still seems not enough, until Washington stutters and buries himself balls deep in Alexander. He feels the warm release spilled inside him. The electric pleasure of his own release rushes over him, setting the whole world on fire. He hears the man groan and he’s probably screaming himself, but he doesn’t care.

The bed beside him shifts and suddenly, he feels so empty and cold before the warmth comes back to wrap around him. The flaming world quiets down again.

“There, my boy. We need to clear yourself up before you fall asleep.” The voice is a blur, as if Alexander is hearing it from underwater. He feels himself cuddled against a broad chest by a strong arm and lips grazing the sensitive skin behind his ear. Kisses at the tears prickling around his eyes. The man feels like he’s taking pity on a toy he’s just broken. Alexander sniffles.

“George?” he asks, sleepily.

“Mm?” a deep, soft voice answers behind him.

“Does this feel good for you?” he says. God, he’s so tired, like he was torn inside out.

“Of course, I—”

“Then why have we waited so long for this? Tortured ourselves for so many years? We have wasted so many years when we could have been...” He could have chosen not to marry Eliza and he wouldn’t be here, torturing himself with guilt. “Unless you didn’t want me?” He turns around to face his lover.

There’s silence for a moment. 

“Alexander,” the man says, “I love you and I’ve fallen in love with you the first time we met. I love you and I want to protect you and I know I could’ve hurt you in this way. And I...”

“How could you...” He stops and he sighs. “Next time you want to protect me, consult with me first.” 

He’s trying to be angry, trying to be unforgiving, but a yawn breaks the facade and the man chuckles.

“All right, sleep now, my bossy little girl,” his George purrs in his ear and it makes him more sleepy, “I promise you, that I—”

He slips into darkness before the man finishes his sentence.

That Reynolds guy keeps troubling him with letters threatening to expose his secret. They still have a copy in Clingman’s hand. And Maria, she continues her creation of letters with horrible grammar, urging Alexander to have a visit to their house. Alexander has to show up there once in a while to convince her husband. He stays with her and they do nothing but awkwardly avoid each other’s eyes. He finds the best way to kill time is to think about Washington.

He’s well aware of the situation he’s got himself in. He could be caught with Washington and visits to Maria double the risk.

Things haven’t changed after Eliza came back at the end of the summer. She hasn’t perceived anything and neither Washington nor Alexander has brought up Eliza between them again.

Maybe it’s Alexander’s job to warn his president of the risk, but he doesn’t mean to end their relationship. Nor does he want Washington to seriously consider the risk and end it. Yet, Alexander has feelings of guilt to think that  _he_ brought the president into this. He’s spent his whole life protecting the image of the legendary George Washington to unify the country, to prevent the states from getting themselves into wars against each other. And now, he will probably let all his effort go to waste by fornicating with Washington.

He knows he’s hopeless, drowning in this dream too good to be real. He still wants to hear the man’s chuckles against his neck when the man could finally let down his guard and be real a second. When the man could stop pretending to be the great General, who is always aloof and stern, and he could relax and show Alexander the considerate lover behind the mask. Alexander could relax in his arms and make his George laugh, a real laugh, and the man would whisper his name, Alexander, in his ear.

***

Things have gotten uglier since the assumption bill passed. Before that, it was just arguments and quarrels in Congress. Now, even some of Jefferson’s own men, including Frederick Muhlenberg, think the man has gone too far. Jefferson wants to destroy Hamilton, not just his political stand, but the guy himself. Sending him to hell and letting him burn.

On the bright side, they find themselves useful with a lot of work to do, and that means opportunities for achievements and honors in the party. Lucky for them. They’ve been busy digging out dirt on Hamilton, but sadly, they haven’t found a shred of evidence for the corruption they claimed. 

What makes their job even more difficult is that Jefferson has been adamantly against any personal abuse. No immigrant. No son of a whore. No creole bastard (That’s what John Adams does. Not us.). Just a monarchist, a spy for the British, a corruptive, unabashed liar defending the rich and the speculators. 

So what they’ve got so far is just groundless rumors, meaningless conspiracy theories, but sometimes, reading too much bullshit makes one believe in it. A liar telling too many lies will fall for his own lies and that’s what happens to Jefferson and his men. They do believe what they say and none of them realizes what a farce it is. And for the other citizens? Ridiculous shit being repeated too many times appears not ridiculous at all.

Not that it would be Frederick’s concern. He just needs to mind his own job, which is simple, finding dirt on Hamilton, whatever it is about. 

Today is a big day for him because he’s going to change his life by finding the first, real scandal of Hamilton. It will be a huge gift for his dearest Jefferson and history will remember him for this. 

He strides toward Thomas as soon as he spots the man, his face flushed with excitement.

“Well?” Thomas cocks an eyebrow, expecting his news.

“You have no idea what I’ve found. It’s for real this time. You’re gonna love this. Remember to thank me properly...”

Jefferson grabs the parchment from his hand and cuts off his rambling.

“What’s this?” he glances it over and asks.

“A love letter,” Muhlenberg says before Jefferson loses his temper and smacks the paper into his face, “from Hamilton.” He knows how filthy the letter appears and he doesn’t want Jefferson to misunderstand it as something else.

“Why should I care about what he writes to his wife?” the man sneers.

“Does that look like a letter to one’s wife to you?” he interrupts him. “No, what you’re holding in your hand is evidence of an affair with another lady. An idiot, Clingman, got himself in jail and when he begged for my help, this is what he paid me with.” It seems that Clingman has got hold of the letter for a period of time and saved it for a rainy day. The affair itself may have ended now but a scandal can never be too late.

Jefferson is clearly not listening to him as he immerses himself in the letter. The man’s face blenches as he reads it. 

Good, the man is interested. Almost too interested. He didn’t even get that interested when he was presented with secret correspondence between Hamilton and King George.

“This is not his handwriting, I suppose?” Jefferson questions, absentmindedly. When did they start to care about the authenticity of a letter?

“It’s not, but...” he hesitates.

“It’s his manner, his style.”

Frederick raises an eyebrow. How can Jefferson identify one’s  _style_ by reading porn? Frederick didn’t actually read it because it’s too embarrassing and kind of prying, but Jefferson seems absorbed in it, which makes Frederick even more embarrassed. He turns his head away, pretending nothing is happening.

Finally, Jefferson finishes and realizes how embarrassing it is.

“Good job.” The man pats on his shoulder. “I mean, well done.”

Jefferson rushes out and leaves Frederick flushing like a maiden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve seriously considered writing a story about Hamilton being a spy for the British in the revolution.


	7. Washington on Your Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s something about the Treasury Secretary.” He takes out the letter Muhlenberg gave him earlier. The moment he has the letter in Washington’s hand, he regrets it.

Thomas knocks at the door of Washington’s office and surprisingly, it is Hamilton who answers the door. He seems flustered and also surprised to see Thomas outside.

“Sorry, I was just on my way out,” he says as he nods and brushes past Thomas.

Why would it be a surprise to see the Secretary of State outside the President’s office?

Hamilton’s hair is in a mess, and Thomas smells the cologne on him, familiar but mixed with something else this time. Like someone else’s scent.

“Mr. Jefferson?” asks the man sitting in the office.

Jefferson clears Hamilton out of his mind and sits down across from Washington. He’s here for business.

“Mr. President, as you know,” Thomas shifts in his chair and says, “we’ve got evidence that Hamilton is bribing congressmen with government securities and now there’s further evidence that...”

“Well, Mr. Secretary, I’ve told you I had no interest in your evidence for I had no doubt about Hamilton’s integrity. If you insist, you can present your evidence to Congress and they’ll decide if it’s convincing enough.”

“But—” Thomas tries to protest.

“If you’re going to say the financial system itself is corrupt somehow, I’ll tell you that Congress has approved it and you can go ask Madison about it. You can even convince Madison to introduce a motion to reverse it, but you know it won’t work. I’m sorry but I’m with Hamilton on this issue and you also know why I never endorse you on this kind of thing.”

Thomas doesn’t even have a chance to interject as the President finishes all the words he can say for him. It’s like Washington is the lion and Thomas is just a deer shaking with fear. Or maybe a vulture, waiting for some scraps left by the lion, but he still has no place beside the lion. As Washington’s subordinate, Thomas keeps the appearance of respect for his boss, but things are different when it comes to Hamilton. Washington seems... aggressive.

Burr was right. He wants to destroy Hamilton because there’s nothing he can do to Washington.

Still, he needs to do something. The situation is not in their favor. Three years ago, Washington would stand aside to avoid accusations of partisanship. Now, he doesn’t hide his favoritism for Hamilton at all and he openly endorses the Federalists. Three years ago, Washington would stay neutral and hold a debate for issues like Hamilton’s financial plan. Now, when they held a cabinet meeting on the issue of France several days ago, Washington stood up himself and told Thomas it was disquieting that he let his ideals blind him to reality.

If he could, Thomas would say it was disquieting that  _Washington_ let his favoritism for his illegitimate child blind himself to reality. Washington now listens to no one but the little immigrant.

He needs to do something about this. He doesn’t have the nerve to openly attack Washington in the papers, but Burr has. Burr and Washington have a disagreement since the start of the revolution. Burr is one of the few people in this country who don’t hold Washington in high regard, and Washington despises Burr for some reason. But they both befriend Hamilton.

After a long pause, Thomas smiles wryly. “So you let yourself be Hamilton’s puppet?”

Washington also smiles. “Mr. Jefferson,” he sighs and shakes his hand in disappointment. He seems too tired to retort. “If that’s all, you may leave now.”

“Actually,” Thomas doesn’t want to quit yet, “there  _is_ something I want to talk about with you, sir. I...” What is he gonna say? He knows he needs to say something to get the President’s attention but... Why would he tell  _this_ to the President? Why should the President know about  _this_ ?

“Go on,” says the President, annoyed by his hesitation.

If the President asks for this. “It’s something about the Treasury Secretary.” He takes out the letter Muhlenberg gave him earlier.

The moment he has the letter in Washington’s hand, he regrets it. Hamilton commits adultery, sure. He should publish it in the papers, not on the President’s desk. But somehow, he has an intuition that Washington has something to do with it.

Washington’s eyes widen at the parchment. He blinks and clears his throat. Then the President folds the letter, presses it down on the desk and turns away to hide his flush.

God. What has Thomas done? He gave such a letter to their honorable President and... 

He needs to leave. But the letter is still with Washington, and Washington seems lost in thoughts and has forgotten about it. It’s already been embarrassing enough to give it to the President and Thomas will not embarrass himself more by asking for it back.

It’s not important, he tells himself. It’s just a copy and Muhlenberg must have more of it.

“Mr. President, well, I’m going to leave now, if you...” He trails off, trying not to disturb the President from... whatever he’s doing.

He has totally screwed it up, he mutters to himself as he pads down the hallway. 

What was he doing? He wanted to find out who the letter was addressed to. If he wanted to know that, he should go ask Muhlenberg. But a voice in his head told him Washington had something to do with this. He knew it, but he didn’t know how. He read the letter and Washington’s face just popped into his head. But it couldn’t be. Why would Hamilton write such a letter to Washington? But why should Thomas care about who the letter is addressed to? Adultery is just adultery. What Hamilton has done is nothing compared with Thomas himself. Unless...

A horrible idea hits him as he walks through the crowd. Some of them are trying to talk with him but it’s like he hears them from underwater.

Unless. Unless he still cares about Hamilton. He doesn’t want to know if Hamilton is true to Eliza. All he knows is that Hamilton chose someone besides Eliza and it’s not him. 

It’s been three years. They have fought with each other and shouted at each other, and spent three years dreaming about cutting each other’s throat. In the end, Thomas finds the reason for all this is that he’s still in love with the little immigrant and he hates him for not giving him a chance.

***

George wakes up to find the sweet flesh in his arms. He’s confused for a moment and then... Oh. 

He hasn’t brought boys back to his home for ages so it’s the first time in years for him to wake up cuddling with someone in the morning. Alexander insists on not loving in his marriage bed, at least not again, and Martha insists on not allowing them to suffer in a shabby tavern, so here they are, in George’s king-sized bed. They’ve been discreet. Alexander should be gone before dawn so that he won’t be witnessed sneaking out from the backdoor of the President’s house. Usually, he wouldn’t fall asleep in George’s bed and would leave before midnight. Apparently not today.

The exercise they had the night before was more exhausting than usual and they both drifted off before they came to their senses. They’ve been together for three years but things haven’t changed much. Alexander still begs George to fuck him senseless and walks into Washington’s office during the day, desperate to taste George’s cock. 

But that doesn’t explain what happened last night, when he almost damaged his boy. It was about the letter. When he took it from Jefferson’s hand, he knew what was going on almost immediately. How could Alexander be so sloppy? Meanwhile, he felt his cock beginning to harden. He tried to act normal, as normal as a man who got offended by such filth, and the moment Jefferson left his office, he locked the letter in his drawer. He should’ve burnt it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He got home and fucked his boy hard, like he was possessed by a devil.

He should talk with Alexander about this (about what Jefferson might know about them) and Alexander shouldn’t even be here now in the morning. But it’s Sunday, George says to himself, which means he can spend his whole day reveling in the tender bit of flesh now curling against him like a kitten. George falls apart at the sight of it. His boy clinging to George’s bare shoulder as if even when he’s asleep, he’s afraid George would leave him. As if George would ever dare to think of leaving his angel.

He wants to do something special for his boy to make up for last night.

But it’s morning and it’s so sweet like nothing has happened last night. His boy is just right here, so close that he can reach out and touch those knitted eyebrows. That single idea makes his heart shake. It’s almost too sweet, too domestic, and too surreal for him to bear. It’s like heaven, except the heavy blade of the guillotine hanging over their heads. Every minute they share with each other is at the cost of risking everything in their lives.

The body in his arms shifts.

“Good morning, Dad,” he says without opening his eyes.

“Good morning, my angel.” George presses a kiss to Alexander’s forehead and asks, “Would you like your breakfast now or you need my help to work up an appetite?”

The body shifts again and George sees he wince as the muscles in his ass and the bruises on his thighs are touched. Then something hard is pressed against George’s stomach.

“What do you think, Daddy?” Alex purrs, widening those bright brown eyes.

“I think it would be the best with no more than gentle caresses,” George says. He knows the best for the boy even when Alexander is doing his best to disguise his soreness.

“Oh, you think you can make me come without entering me? Just caresses?”

“Are you challenging me?” He growls as he shifts to hover over the small body squirming beneath him. God, he’s so small. How can he be so small and lovely and innocent? “You are a naughty boy you know that, do you?”

“Then prove it,” the boy giggles wickedly, “prove to me that you own me so totally that you can just order me to come for you with nothing but your command.”

George grunts and rolls his hips tentatively. They’re both naked under the blanket and Alexander lets out a loud moan immediately when their cocks make contact.

George slides against the delicate angel lying under him again and Alex whimpers. He presses into those shivering lips and Alex has no choice but to moan into his mouth. He moves down to kiss his jawline and nip along his neck. Alex throws his head back in ecstasy, an invitation for George to explore every inch of that soft, tender skin. He pecks and licks, and sucks just a slight bit to leave the lightest marks behind. 

“What is this about?” Alexander gasps. The boy, taken by surprise, writhes nervously at first, but soon he relaxes into his touch. 

They are not usually like this. It’s been hard, brutal, savage like animals and it has never been gentle. It has never been with so much care, and love has never been so thick in the air that you can smell it. He wants the boy to feel being treasured, like a treasure that he is, to feel being beautiful, like a work of art that he is, and to feel being loved, because he simply deserves it. He just wants to do something sweet instead of making his boy hurt.

“What are you doing?” the boy pretests.

“What? You don’t like this?” he says as he rolls his hips.

“No, I—” 

He goes down to the boy’s collarbones and his chest. When he touches those stiffened nipples, the boy groans loudly.

“Oh my God, Daddy. Oh my God. This is so good,” the boy cries between gasps, “So good.” 

The boy’s arms hold on George’s back like he’s living upon it. George listens to the broken breath in his ear as he buries his face into the crook of the boy’s neck. He grinds down harder with his hips. He starts to play with the nipples with both his hands, which turns the boy into a mess. He pinches and rolls them between his fingers and Alex arches his back up to his touch.

George decides to spare the boy and stops with his nipples. “I love you, Daddy. I love you,” the boy chants as he falls back into quietness.

“And I love you,” he responds and grinds down a little harder this time. The boy bursts out a moan, almost screaming.

“Ah! Daddy, Please, please. George, whatever you want me to call you. Just please. I’m—” 

“Shhh. I’m here,” he coos into the boy’s ear, “I’m here. That’s all right.” He feels Alexander shivers at his words. 

He looks his boy in the eye as he grinds down harder and holds the boy’s small hand in his broad one. It’s like catching a bird in your hand and you can feel it shaking in your palm. You have to hold it carefully because the last thing you want to do is to hurt those beautiful feathers, but you know perfectly well that you can crush it with the slightest effort. And some part of you wants that.

“Come for your daddy,” he rubs purposely against his boy’s crotch and commands. For the first time, all he wants is to please the boy in his arms and he doesn’t even want them to last. “Make daddy proud of his little boy.” It only takes a few thrusts to push Alex over the edge and have his spill cover both their stomachs. 

They tangle their fingers tightly and lock on each other’s eyes, as they ride over their orgasm together.

It’s perfect.

He arranges them so he can hold Alex from behind like spoons in a drawer, after he cleans them both with a rag. He nuzzles along that beautiful dark hair, and rests his face in it contently.

“Daddy, I thought... I didn’t expect it would feel so good,” his boy whispers, “I’m sorry...”

“No need to apologize, my angel,” he interrupts.

“No. I mean, I love this. We should do this again later.”

As the boy is still lost in the euphoria earlier, George comes to an epiphany. An epiphany that he wants to be like this forever. To stay with his boy forever, to hold him tight and they could grow old together if heaven doesn’t forbid him. If Alex doesn’t grow tired of him. If they can stay in this way as they did in these three years. If Alex doesn’t mind him as a pathetic old man in love with a piece of young flesh.

When Alexander said he loved this, he meant it. Last night was perfect and this morning is even better. Being covered by his daddy like a blanket and overwhelmed by his scent. Feeling so small and fragile but safe all at the very same time. He had never expected their relationship would be something like this. He knew Washington loved him but he didn’t know Washington would love him with so much tenderness and intimacy that it almost reminded him of Eliza. Washington is a mountain of a man and how could he expect him to be such a gentle lover? Washington’s attraction to him has been nothing like Eliza. He loves those muscles flexing under the dark skin when he fucks him, and loves that big cock, which could shock a maiden, but he’s never expected this.

He’s found that he will easily fall in love with whatever Washington does to him, but this is more than that.

He hurries downstairs when he’s called for breakfast and finds his lover sitting at the table with Lady Washington.

Washington told him about the weird situation in his family the second day they had their first fuck, but it still took him some time to get used to it. Lady Washington is more than happy to see Washington has finally taken Alexander into his bed.

‘I’ve urged him to do it since he told me for the first time that he thought you might hold feelings for him. It was soon after the first time you met. I fully understand how painful you must have felt to be rejected like that, you poor thing. Not that I wish to harm my dearest Eliza. It’s just unfair for you two to keep torturing each other,’ Martha once said to him.

She also urges him to tell Eliza the truth, who happens to be a best friend of hers, and assures him that Eliza won’t be upset. But Alexander just doesn’t have the nerve to do that. He thought he should wait until she came back from Albany. And then, he thought he should wait until she gave birth to their child. And then, Eliza got pregnant again and Alexander simply gave up.

“Alexander, there’s something I want to talk about with you,” Washington says, breaking him out of his reverie.

“What?”

Then he feels something fluffy against his calf. 

“Oh, sweetie, I miss you.” The moment he finds the sweetie rubbing against his legs, he pulls him onto his lap.

He tries to kiss the cat on his nose but the cat is startled and pulls himself away. 

He is no longer the feral kitten during the years of the war. Now he is aged and has been fed too well. He gets lazy with almost everything. He’s even fatter than he was then. Except he’s still got the name Hamilton, after Alexander. 

“You sweet thing, still remember Alexander?” Martha asks as she pats his head.

Alexander chuckles and glances up to find Washington peering at him with dilated pupils. The cat had never been a fan of the great General Washington as many other men and Washington has never been a cat person, either. But watching Alexander with a cat in his arms makes Washington look like he’s going to  _eat_ him right now.

Alexander presses another kiss to Hamilton’s forehead with his eyes staying on Washington’s. He nuzzles the poor creature with his lips as Hamilton waves his paws in an attempt to protest. 

Martha clears her throat. “So you’ll spend your day here, Alexander?”

“I...” Eliza’s gone to Albany and Alexander doesn’t want to go back to an empty house.

“If you’re staying, I’ll let the servants know so that they can set another place for you at dinner,” Martha says.

Dinner? Okay, now he’s going to have dinner with his lover and his lover’s wife. “Well, thank you for your hospitality, Lady Washington.”

“My pleasure,” she smiles, and then her voice turns cold. “Now give my cat back to me,” she commands. “Just give him a break. Can’t you see he doesn’t like being kissed? Unlike  _someone_ who does.”

“Sorry, madam.” He smiles an awkward smile and puts the cat carefully in Martha’s arms before she disappears from the table.

“So what do you want to talk about?” Alexander asks when he’s alone with Washington in the room.

“Jefferson,” the man says, and the smile on his face freezes.

“What about him?” 

“Does he know about us?” his lover asks quietly.

“Of course not. If he knew, we would be hanged on a wall for tourists by now. The famous sodomites George Washington and Alexander Hamilton. Plus, we’ve been discreet...” 

“Are you certain?”

It sounds like George must have known something.

“Ah... Maybe? He may or may not have something in his hand, and I...”

“Something? Is it a letter?”

His jaw drops. How have they not been hanged on the wall yet?

“What if I say yes?” His voice is shaking.

“Well,” George nods and says, “it appears that they haven’t quite found out who’s the heroine of this romantic drama.”

Maria is, but George doesn’t need to know that. Jefferson is still a problem. “How do you know about this?” Alexander asks.

“Jefferson came to my office and gave me the letter. He was trying to accuse you of something but it didn’t work out. He left the letter with me, but it was just a copy so he must have more.”

“Sure, there must be more.” They must be spreading it all around their party and making fun of it together. Maybe they would be jealous of his skills with a quill and borrow his words to whisper to their wives in the quiet of the night. Alexander feels sick. 

“But the good news is, it finally gets to you after three years,” he adds with a wide grin.

“Yes. What a coincidence.” Washington raises his brows at him.

“Do you like it?” His smile grows even wider.

“Actually, I do.” To his surprise, Washington admits without hesitation. “I could’ve burnt it, but when I chose to lock it up, I couldn’t help but take it out and read it over and over.” His voice becomes deep and low and Alexander finds the man’s pupils blown. With Washington staring at him like that, Alexander feels he’s going to melt into a puddle of water and flow down to the floor.

“Is there—” He looks around to make sure no one’s listening and lowers his voice. He needs this for his fantasy. “Is there any of your seed on it? I mean, did you spend yourself over the letter?”

Silence.

“I... I had a boner right in front of Jefferson.”

“What?” Alexander bursts out a laugh.

“You don’t need to remind me of how embarrassing it is. I’m perfectly aware of my age and—” 

“No, I’m not laughing at you. I will never laugh at you, old man. So then you tended to it with your hand?” He wiggles his brows in anticipation.

“Alexander,” The man knits his brows and warns, and he sighs. “You’re horrible.”

“I know.” Alexander pouts.

“All right. You want to know about it?” Alexander watches as he stands up and comes around to him. “How about I show it to you upstairs?”

“Let’s go.” He grins and takes the man’s hand.

***

After a cabinet meeting one day, Thomas says to Hamilton,

_“You’re nothing without Washington behind you.”_

He sees the smile fade from Hamilton’s face and hears Washington’s voice,  _“Hamilton.”_

_“Daddy’s calling,”_ he blurts out without a second thought.

Hamilton gives him a glare before the immigrant turns on his heel and makes his way to Washington’s office. 

Thomas’s eyes follow his thin shoulders as Hamilton strides into the room. Washington stands in front of the door, as if he’s shielding the boy behind him from Thomas or claiming the boy as his possession. When Washington turns back to his office and shuts the door with a click, Thomas finds those wide eyes of Hamilton staring at Thomas. Thomas doesn’t know if it’s his illusion that those eyes seem helpless, like Hamilton wants Thomas to save him from something. Or it’s just Thomas’s fantasy that Hamilton might not be happy with Washington.

He has his suspicions. Thomas isn’t kind to Hamilton but Hamilton doesn’t necessarily need to be so mean to Thomas and the reason for this is Hamilton has already fallen for another one. He tries to convince himself that Washington is who that letter was written for but he knows it’s just a lie that he makes up for himself to soothe his hurt pride. Of course he can’t compete with the great General George Washington. Then he tells himself that Hamilton is not happy with Washington and he’s forced by his superior, while Thomas could have loved him in a better way. He also knows that is not true because Washington and Hamilton have known each other for years, forged a friendship since the war, while Thomas is nothing to Hamilton.

“It must be nice to have Washington on your side.”

Thomas is caught off guard by a voice behind him. Jesus Christ, that man sneaks like a cat, making no sound when he walks, and smiles like a fox, who doesn’t really smile.

“Sure it is,” Thomas responds. “I’ve presented evidence of corruption right in front of Washington, and the President sees nothing. He will always indulge his catamite.” Burr raises an eyebrow at this new description. “As long as Hamilton got Washington in his pocket, he can do anything he wants.”

But when all is said and all is done, they know the real reason is that Hamilton got the country in his pocket. His financial system is well received, has boosted the economy and saved the people from the misery after the war. He got Congress in his pocket and that’s why no matter how they trumpet the corruption, Congress won’t approve their motions. What they truly need is...

“We need to follow the money and see where it leads, get in the weeds, look for the seeds of Hamilton’s misdeeds. We need to find out a real crime instead of baseless rumors,” Madison appears and says. “He’s not a god. He’ll make a blunder someday and if we catch it, we can claim that it’s deliberate.”

Are they so desperate now? Aaron wants to snort but he won’t say it out loud. That’s not what he does. Aaron Burr will always be the one that smiles at everyone and agrees with everyone, and that man doesn’t snort. It doesn’t change the fact that they are praying for Hamilton’s error in his work to save them. Or maybe Madison is wrong. Hamilton actually is a god and he is the god they’re praying to.

He was the divorce lawyer of a poor woman called Maria Reynolds last year. He saw she had been beaten by her husband and that husband wanted to take all her money. It caught his attention that the hatred the husband held for Maria was unusual even among couples getting divorces. Aaron told her any detail might help the case and assured her again and again that he had a duty of confidentiality as her lawyer, before she told him the story. The secrets, the lies, and the truth. Her husband decided to have a divorce when he found out the original letter was destroyed by her. It was when Jacob Clingman came back to ask him for it, because Thomas Jefferson somehow lost the only copy of it. 

They lost the case anyway but Maria was grateful she could have someone to talk to. Carrying such a big secret in her life must be a burden.

So the lion got his prey.

Those Congressmen can keep stroking themselves when Hamilton makes speeches at Congress, but Washington is the one to shove himself into Hamilton’s ass.

For Aaron, all that matters is that Hamilton has finally got the one he was waiting for, and it’s not Aaron Burr.

_“Mr. President, you asked to see me?”_ Alexander asks as he steps into the office.

_“I know you're busy.”_ Washington follows him into the room and closes the door behind him.

“What do you need, Daddy?” he turns around, asks quietly and smirks, “Do you need me to blow you under your desk?” 

“No, I—” his lover says as he comes forward to wrap him in his arms, “I just want to have a talk with you.”

He leans against the man’s chest and feels like he could stay like this forever. Screw the French and the Democratic-Republicans. The place in his Daddy’s arms is where he belongs. 

Except he knows he’ll never be satisfied.

He was going to fall asleep (Washington’s chest is too comfortable and this feels too natural for them) when Washington begins. “I told you I would find out a solution to our situation and I’ve found it.” 

“But?” From his experience, when Washington is hesitant to say something, it can’t be good. Yet, he doesn’t bother to look up from the man’s chest.

“I know I’m in no position to ask this from you, but... I won’t  _ask_ anything from you. We’ll make the choice together this time. You said, the next time I wanted to protect you, you’d like me to consult with you first. Now I’m consulting. I won’t do anything unless I have your consent.”

“Mmm.” He knows for sure now this isn’t good but he doesn’t care, because he knows nowhere will be safer than in George’s arms. “Can’t we just do nothing and let us stay like this forever? Until we rot into nothing but our skeletons?” He yawns and all he wants now is to fall asleep against his lover’s chest.

“And let the two parties fight each other to death and tear this country apart in the meantime?” The man sighs and he feels the chest beneath him heave. “I’m not blaming you or anything, but what you did got us in this situation and the problem is not going to solve itself. I’m openly endorsing you but if our cabinet’s fractured into factions, this presidency... I can’t do this anymore. This cabinet has become a joke. I don’t want to listen to Jefferson and you swearing at each other in every meeting and I’d like to live a few more years. Can’t you see all three of us are suffering?”

“Believe me, I know it well enough.” He frees himself from George’s arms and starts to pace the floor. “It’s been hell for us all. What do you want me to do?”

“Another quid pro quo,” the man says.

“I suppose,” he follows without missing a beat.

They smile at each other at the same time. Alexander has got used to the political game they’re playing and found himself practiced in it. He can use it to get what he wants instead of being made into the politician they want him to be. 

The letter in Jefferson’s hand is like the sword of Damocles hanging above their heads and the best way to make Jefferson shut up willingly is to strike a deal. If they can find out the thing that Jefferson wants most, by controlling it, they will control Jefferson. Though it will be like, just giving him what he wants.

“I will tell Jefferson to resign and he’ll obey if he doesn’t want to humiliate himself by being fired openly,” George says.

“You're kidding,” he gasps, “If I could, I would’ve already tried it.” God knows every day he dreams about waking up and going to work without Jefferson smirking at him like he’s some kind of silly schoolboy.

“If he steps down, he can run for President.”

_“Ha. Good luck defeating you, sir.”_ He looks over his shoulder to laugh and turns back to continue pacing.

_“I'm stepping down. I'm not running for President,”_ the man says as if he’s talking about the weather and Alexanders stops.

_“I'm sorry, what?”_ He turns around to stare at the man. His eyes widen and his jaw drops.

“I’ll promise Jefferson that I’ll never run against him...” 

“No, this is too much.” He shakes his head violently. “You can’t do this for me, or for us. There must be another way—” 

“... and so will you.”

“What about me?”

“I won’t run for President again and I will do this for us as well as for the country. But you have a choice. You can resign and you can promise Jefferson your support for him in the election. That means you won’t run against him either.”

“I don’t mind resigning with Eliza and another baby coming on its way. I have a large family to feed.” Sure, the presidency is what Jefferson wants most, but it can also be true of Alexander. France and this scandal are both important matters but still... Can he give up his power like this? Would he throw away his shot this time?

He’s never considered the presidency as his purpose but he didn’t say he didn’t want it. He knows he won’t be satisfied if he could’ve been the President.

But, if Washington refuses to serve another term, Jefferson will at least be a better president than John Adams and to be honest, Alexander doesn’t have a very good chance of winning.

“Like I said,” George says in a soft and quiet voice, “the choice is yours. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“I’ll do it,” he answers firmly. George looks up to him with surprise in his eyes. “I can’t win the election anyway and Jefferson is not so bad for a candidate. It’s just Jefferson will be tricked into another unfair deal but this time he won’t get to accuse me of it when he finds out he’s been cheated again, because I will have been hanged beside you.”

“Don’t say that,” George says but can’t help his smile.

Alexander has promised himself that he will do everything he can to protect Washington’s reputation in the country as their leader. He dragged Washington into this and he will not let his folly ruin the man he loves or the country he loves.


	8. We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I need you to help me stop John Adams from winning the election.” Hamilton looks back to Thomas with those wide, brown eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. It's been long since last chapter and I've been busy with the midterm. A lot of exams and a lot of papers. Also, it's a sad chapter. I thought I could finish the story in this chapter but it looks like it will be another one. Please enjoy!  
> BTW, we're all excited that Biden has won the election here in China. I mean most of us anyway.

It’s freezing.

Thomas finishes his work for the day. He gets his coat on and walks outside. It’s winter now and the hallway is freezing. Winters in Philadelphia are not as cold as in New York, but it’s still cold for a Virginian. He should be sitting in front of the fireplace in Monticello instead of sulking in his office and freezing to death on his way home. 

He’s sulking because he’s tried everything to destroy Hamilton’s reputation but nothing comes out. He’s even tried to destroy Washington’s but things haven’t changed much. The cabinet is in chaos, and so is the country. Washington’s presidency is still untouched. 

He’ll be re-elected. It’s a fact as certain as it was in the last two elections. People now have doubts about him but they will re-elect him out of their respect for the General who led them to freedom. Then they’ll re-elect him again and again and one day they’ll suddenly realize they’ve brought the monarchy back and instead of voting him out, they will start to call him King George. Then they’ll start to talk about whether he should pass the throne to his stepson or his nephew, or his bastard child Hamilton, and no one will remember they have ever promised themselves a country where all men are created equal. Thomas Jefferson will be the idiot in their history, who is foolish enough to believe that they can create a republic.

“Mr. Jefferson,” he hears a voice calling him when he arrives at the gate and turns around to find Hamilton running up to him, gasping and a little flushed. The immigrant must feel even colder than Thomas. He has wrapped himself in a thick coat and he’s still shivering in the wind. His cheeks are the color of roses, just like the first day they met.

Thomas feels no longer cold all of a sudden. He’s set on fire.

He says he hates Hamilton, but whenever he actually  _sees_ the man, he’s attracted to him like a nail to a magnet. A moth to a candle.

“Can I walk with you? I believe we’re in the same direction,” Hamilton says, trying to keep himself warm by stamping his feet.

“Uh…” Thomas cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah.” 

They argue over almost everything at work but they’ve kept civil after work. It still feels too much for them to walk together on their way home. It’s probably the first time in the three years they’ve been working together and Thomas accepts without hesitation.

So, they walk. 

The silence is killing him as they stroll down the street side by side, even if the street is bustling and noisy around them. It’s only been a few minutes but it feels like years.

Then it starts to snow. Snowflakes fall from the sky and land on the ground and the buildings. It covers the noise of the city and separates them from the rest of the world. 

It’s almost like a dream. A dream that he walks in the snow with Hamilton like normal friends and mutely enjoys the peace and serenity between them. A dream that they can leave work together like co-workers do and share jokes along the way.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Hamilton suddenly breaks the silence and looks up to him. Thomas sees the snow that has landed on those thick long lashes and it just takes his breath away.

“Sure. What secret?” He hears his voice shaking.

Hamilton doesn’t answer. He looks back down to his feet as he treads in the snow and leaves small footprints behind. The immigrant has small feet, like his body, Thomas notices. Then his attention shifts to the little man’s body and all he can see now is the beautiful dark hair flowing to his shoulders.

“Washington isn’t running for President in the next election,” Hamilton says after a while.

“Are you serious?” Thomas’s eyes widen at his words. Thomas has racked his brain, trying to find a way to stop Washington from becoming a king. This can’t be that simple. 

“There are some conditions,” Hamilton says quietly and looks up into the distance. Thomas can’t help but follow his gaze.

“Of course.” So this is what Hamilton is doing. Alexander Hamilton doesn’t just offer to walk home with you for no reason. He’s here to negotiate, on behalf of Washington.

“I need you to help me stop John Adams from winning the election.” Hamilton looks back to Thomas with those wide, brown eyes.

Huh. Thomas sneers in his head. “And why would I do that? Why would I help you win the presidency?”

“No.” The little immigrant shakes his head and the way that thick hair brushes his shoulders makes Thomas’s heart itchy. “ _You_ will be President, and I’ll help you with that.”

Thomas’s jaw goes slack and he can’t believe what he’s just heard. What the fuck is Hamilton talking about? That he would give up being President himself and help Thomas instead? That’s ridiculous but Hamilton  _is_ a ridiculous man sometimes. “You’re gonna do that just because you hate John Adam too much?”

Hamilton snorts at the name. “He calls me ‘creole bastard’ but that’s not all the reason I don’t want him to be President. He’s not material for President and if he’s elected, they’re gonna eat him alive if he hasn’t destroyed the country first.”

Thomas loves the guy John Adams, but he also has to agree with Hamilton. He wouldn’t vote for John Adams even if he were a Federalist. “Don’t you want to be President?” he asks.

“Why would I?” Hamilton retorts. “Only idiots like you guys want to be President. No offense. Washington has never wanted to be President from the beginning. Besides, I already have my bank and I got what I wanted. Now Washington is retiring and I...” He trails off. It seems he realizes something he shouldn’t be talking about. “Anyway, you can have my words that I will never run for President myself.”

“Still, that would be...” He blinks as he tries to find the right words. “You’re betraying the Federalists just like you betrayed New York.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Hamilton laughs dryly. “There will be other terms, of course. You need to resign.  _Washington_ wants you to resign.”

So, this is what it’s about. They can’t put up with him any longer. What still makes no sense is that, Washington gives up his throne and leaves it to Thomas just to make him resign?

“How can I believe that you’re telling the truth? How can I know that you’ll keep your promise after I resign?” He stops and grabs Hamilton’s arm to make him look in his eyes.

He thought Hamilton would say something like, ‘You don’t. The offer is too good for you to refuse.’ Instead. “The letter,” he says and doesn’t even blink as he faces him. Thomas knows what he’s talking about immediately, which even surprises himself. “You destroy all the copies and promise me that no one will ever talk about it. If I find a single man gossiping about it, I promise I’ll make sure that you’ll never become President. I’d rather vote for Burr.”

Thomas knows the copies have already been destroyed because there have never been any copies except the one in Washington’s desk and apparently Hamilton knows about it. That should be the reason why Hamilton thinks Thomas may have other copies in the first place.

Thomas nods in agreement as if he has thousands of copies. “And if you are the one who breaks our promise, I’ll publish the letter.” 

Hamilton sighs and goes silent, as if he’s really worried about the letter. As if this is what the whole negotiation is about. There must be something Thomas should pay attention to.

Even if there is, he doesn’t need the letter anyway. He just needs to tell the papers to write essays about a scandal and rumors will only grow. Even if no one believes him, he's got nothing to lose. If the President does want him to resign, he has no other choice. It’s a win-win. Washington gets to retire and Hamilton prevents the man he hates from being President and he, Thomas Jefferson, gets to be President. 

Plus, Hamilton’s never gon’be President now.

It looks like everybody wins and Thomas doesn’t mind a little risk.

Hamilton is going to part with him at the intersection when Thomas calls out to him.

“Wait,” he says and Hamilton turns around to face him. Thomas’s throat suddenly goes dry a little. “Could you at least tell me about the letter? Who did you write it for?”

Hearing this, Hamilton narrows his eyes and curls his lips. “Why do you want to know about that? Unless...” He pauses and he suddenly bursts into laughter. “Oh God, you idiot. You wish it were you, don’t you? Not that I mind writing another one for you if you really have the need. Wait. Do you? I mean seriously. I know I’m good with my quill. If you want one in exchange for your willingness to destroy the previous copies, I’ll write you hundreds of them.”

Thomas forces a smile to cover the uneasiness under the surface. “Ha. That’s funny. No, I don’t feel the need.” 

Alexander gives him one last smile. “Bye, then,” he says, before he turns away and disappears into the alley. 

Thomas is still standing there, trying to understand what’s just happened. He can still smell Washington in the air. 

He realizes how familiar the scene is. Three years ago, outside the President’s mansion. Back then, he was just suspicious about how Hamilton came out of Washington’s house in such disarray. And now, he knows for sure there’s something between those two.

Whatever. He’s never gon’be President now.

The presidency now belongs to Thomas and why should he care about who gets to fuck an immigrant?

Except, as a matter of fact, he does care.

***

Alexander often has dreams about the war. It was the highlight of his life in a sense, and the world was so simple at that time. You fought and you killed and you won. You never needed to doubt whether what you did was right or wrong, and you never needed to worry about your conscience. You never knew one’s guilt could be so strong that it felt like it was eating you alive. 

Some of his dreams are about fighting for glory with his men behind him, and sometimes, they are nightmares with canons and bullets flying past his ears.

He walks through the camp as he greets his comrades. Everything is so familiar and he feels like coming home. This sense of familiarity, Alexander remembers in the dream, has happened before. He has come back here before. Only in dreams has he come back to the place that he once called home. The first place he had called home since the death of his mother. The camp was filled with hunger, cold, and pain, but somehow it feels like home to him.

He recognizes some of his old friends. Some of them have been dead by now but they are still there in his dreams. Some of the old generals worked for the Commander-in-Chief. They were much older than him, more experienced than him, but they never looked down on him. They were like uncles in the family and ready to spoil their nephews, except it was quite obvious that they favored a particular one.

Alexander doesn’t realize he is heading for Washington’s tent until he stops in front of it. He enters and sees the man standing with his back to Alexander.

“Your Excellency?” he asks quietly. Why does he sound so scared? Because, as he remembers, something has just happened between the General and him. Something bad such as kissing your commander and then being rejected right in your face. He hasn’t been able to look the General in his eyes for several days. He was scared to death by the fact that he has just humiliated the man that he respected the most in the world in such a way and he could be hanged for buggery by him any minute. 

It is Washington who asks to see him personally this time so he has no choice but to come and meet him.

It’s dark and quiet. The candles aren’t lit up, which is weird, but it’s weird like all dreams are. Alexander doesn’t know it’s a dream but it still feels surreal to him. He holds his breath and wonders what will happen next. He knows for sure that something will happen because it feels like he’s been here before.

“Is everything all right, Sir?” he asks again since Washington isn’t answering him.

He moves slowly forward until he stands right behind his General, who is now towering over him like a mountain. Alexander stares at a spot on the man’s back and marvels inwardly. God, he’s so large. 

Please don’t turn around for a little longer, he prays in his head. Don’t let me see the disgust on your face. Don’t let me see your disappointment in me. Allow me to pretend we’re still fine for just a minute. Allow me to stand here and imagine I’m hugging you from behind before you cast me out of the Army.

He should feel ashamed. He should apologize for his misbehavior. He swallows and takes a step back from his General. He knows he simply can’t apologize. The horror of mentioning such things to his General again is much greater than being hanged. So he just stands there, sniffing Washington’s scent, with horror and shame churning inside him.

Washington turns around in the end no matter how hard Alexander wants him not to, how hard he wants this moment to last. 

It’s too dark to see Washington’s face. That’s when a finger comes under his chin and tilts it up so that Alexander can no longer avoid his eyes.

“Alexander,” he murmurs as the fingers rub the skin just under his lip, “I was wrong. How could I pretend that I didn’t want you?” He leans forward before he presses his lips on Alexander’s.

“No, Sir. I...” Alexander struggles to step back while Washington follows him forward, until his back hits the table and he barely manages not to fall over on it. 

This is wrong. They shouldn’t be doing this. Washington should be keeping his distance from him until he kicked him out of the Army after an argument about fathers or he should hang him on a tree to let the world know Alexander Hamilton died for his love for his General. But this, kissing in a dark tent, is not what happened.

“What’s wrong, Alexander? You said you wanted this.” His General cradles his waist in one arm and supports himself with the other on the table. Alexander feels like a caged animal between those strong arms, and he shivers under the thick lips grazing the side of his neck.

“No, please. Sir...” Washington’s touch sends shivers down his spine. There’s nothing in the world more certain than the fact that he wants more of this but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s wrong. It shouldn’t be happening because he doesn’t deserve it. He deserves to be court-martialed for his behavior. “Your guards are just outside as I saw on my way in.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

“But you want me, right?” he hears the baritone say, “Have you already regretted what you said, or were you lying from the beginning? Did you lie just to please your commander?”

He hardly hears the soldiers outside screaming “Shell!”, before the cannonballs burst right next to his ears. Then it all falls apart. The sky is flaring and the ground is shaking. The whole world is roaring. 

He finds himself screaming as he wakes up from his dream.

“It’s alright. Shh... Calm down, Alexander.” A muffled voice says. It sounds like it comes from another world. George’s trying to put him down while Alexander squirms painfully in his arms. He lets Alexander go once he makes sure he’s wide awake.

Alexander sits up and buries his face in his palms.

“Sorry.” He is panting as he tries to calm down and combs his hair back from his face with his fingers. He must look horrible, pale and sweaty, but George sits up beside him and kisses him on his temple.

“I’ve told you there’s no need to apologize. It happens to the best of us.” George wraps his arms around Alexander and Alexander snuggles closer, leans against the crook of his lover’s neck, and closes his eyes.

Certainly, it’s not the first time Alexander has had a nightmare but it still feels shameful to scream like a child in front of your old commander, especially a strict and harsh one.

“I didn’t see you have one of those,” he says.

“That’s because I feel safe with you, Alexander. You didn’t see how I suffer when I’m sleeping alone.” He presses another kiss on the top of his head.

“That’s true.” Alexander seldom has nightmares lying with George and he soon finds out the reason for the exception this time.

“I dreamed of you trying to kiss me,” he says after a few moments of silence.

“And that’s why you were screaming?”

He chuckles. “Of course, no. But I still remember how you forced me to be your secretary. I’ll hate you forever for that.”

“Two facts you should know,” George sighs and lies back down. “One. An aide-de-camp is not a secretary. They enjoy respectable ranks. Two. You said yes.”

“And that was a mistake,” Alexander retorts without missing a beat, “I turned down Nathaniel Green and Henry Knox and you think you’re that different? Maybe you’re different because they’re all much kinder to me than you.”

“They were kind to you because they all wanted to take you away from me and hire you for themselves. They were kind to you also because they knew I liked you, more than any other on my staff.”

“Why didn’t I see that?” He glares at George though he knows that’s not true. Everyone knew the General’s preference for him, except both of them didn’t want to admit it.

“Green knew that,” George says quietly after a pause.

“Knew what?”

“Green knew I liked you, in a... physical way and he advised me to take you as my aide. He thought it would be a great help to your career advancement.”

“Well, thank him for that,” Alexander snorts. “I could’ve become a general or even taken over your position if I had fought as a commander instead of manning your letters. No one would remember your name anymore. Instead, they would cheer for their new general, General Hamilton.”

His lover laughs. “They wouldn’t. Even if you could take over my position, you would have to be President in place of me. Then I would be sitting under my vine and fig tree in Mount Vernon by now instead of struggling in this city and listening to Jefferson’s complaints.”

“Speaking of Jefferson,” Alexander lies down on George’s chest, “he has accepted my offer. He’ll resign at the end of the year and I’ll resign after Congress finishes their investigation. I need to clear my name before I give my position to someone else. And when you step down...” He trails off. 

He’s been avoiding this topic for a long time and he knows that is what makes him feel unsafe even in George’s arms.

“There’s something I need from you,” George says, not noticing his uneasiness. “I need you to draft a farewell address for me.”

“Right,” he nods and says, “I will do it. And... George?” he asks after a long pause. “Where will you go after the end of your term? Will you go back to Mount Vernon?” 

They’ve never spoken of it but he’s pretty sure that they both know the question is right there between them. At least for Alexander, the question has been haunting him since the first time George says he’s thinking about retiring. Alexander has been too terrified to ask, but someone has to bring it up first.

“Why are you so anxious?” George teases. “It's almost three years away.”

“You know what I mean,” Alexander says quietly and closes his eyes. Say you’ll leave me and I’ll take it. Please just tell me. Don’t torture me with this again.

“How about you come to Mount Vernon?” George says, suddenly.

“Huh,” he says and shifts to face the man, “that sounds perfect, only for you. And no. I have children and a wife in case you forget. That is to say, if you had told me you loved me earlier, I wouldn’t have married Eliza and I wouldn’t have had all these children and none of this shit would have happened and I...” I wouldn’t need to choose between you and my Eliza. I wouldn’t need to feel ashamed every moment I share with you.

“Shhh,” George says, “calm down, Alexander.” He caresses Alexander’s hair with that large hand of his like he’s soothing a restless puppy and Alexander soon relaxes under his touch and places his chin on the solid chest under him.

“I know. I can’t blame everything on you. It’s...”

“No,” George shakes his head and says. “What I’m saying is that I admit that it’s my fault but I’m also glad that you have a beautiful wife who loves you and beautiful children who adore you. It’s just life isn’t perfect and you can’t have everything. Even if you weren’t married, we were still committing a crime which would definitely destroy our reputation and possibly ruin the country at the same time.”

“Right, Father.” Alexander yawns. Of course, he knows. The moment he falls in love with that general on the white horse, he knows it’s forbidden. It didn’t stop him from trying to kiss his General and surely, it won’t stop him now.

“And I know what you mean,” his George continues. “It’s been three years and it’ll be three more years but it still seems not enough. I promise I’ll figure something out. I want you to know that, Alexander, I enjoy every moment I share with you and I want to be with you forever if I could, but of course, if you get tired of me...”

Alexander looks up to face the man. The man is serious. More serious than when he said that they would stay neutral in the war of France against England.

“George, I’ll never get tired of you. Don’t say such a thing to hurt me ever again. And... you’re right. I should’ve been satisfied. It would’ve been enough for me to have such a happy family and a successful career. I just can’t stop this.” He takes a deep breath before he continues. “I said to myself this was the last time and then it became a pastime. I told myself that I shouldn’t do this to Eliza again and then I came back to you anyway. I’d rather grow tired of you as you said and my desire for you would magically go away one day, but it only grows stronger. I just...” Tears suddenly well up in his eyes and his whole body starts to be racked with sobs. 

“Oh, poor boy.” George pulls him up and wraps him in his arms. “Who knows when we'll see each other for the last time? I’m well aware of my health and you should know that...”

“Don’t say that.” He covers George’s mouth with a light kiss. He knows what condition the President is in. He’s witnessed enough these few years and it would break his heart if he sees Washington die in office. Jesus, even Alexander can’t endure this cabinet and he knows Jefferson feels that way too. How can Washington put up with politics three more years? Perhaps, the only reason that he’s still hanging on there is the country will get into chaos if he resigns in the middle of a term. Then what is left to the rest of them is worrying about the President’s health and wondering when they’ll stop seeing Washington in the office every morning.

Because you have no control who lives, who dies, and who tells your story.

Alexander should be satisfied with what he’s got right now.

“Sorry,” George holds him tighter, “I’m really not good at comforting people.”

The man is joking and Alexander should laugh, but it only makes him want to cry even more. He used to feel ashamed to cry in front of his President but now he considers it as the sweetest thing to cry in George’s arms.

“No, you’re just too good at it.” It’s not even the first time that George has overwhelmed him with those loving words and caring looks and made him cry like a baby. He whines helplessly against George’s chest and smears the tears and snot all over it unabashedly, while George is trying to comfort him by murmuring softly into his ears. 

He is shameful, but he doesn’t care.

***   


1797.

“Do you know what it means that John Adams is the President now?” Madison says.

Madison and Burr come uninvited to Thomas’s office almost every day. The United States has a new president and Thomas has a new office, but the three of them still hang around as they always did.

“Hamilton has gone back to New York to support his children. I’ve heard Eliza is pregnant again. Still,  _as long as he can hold a pen, he’s a threat_ .”

People may have noticed Hamilton and Thomas got better with each other since they both resigned, but this war between the two parties has gone out of their control a long time ago. For a start, Madison is clearly not happy to see them reconcile. Members of both parties haven’t agreed to give up their fun just because their leaders got tired of the game.

That’s why even when Hamilton did everything he could to destroy Adams’s name, the guy still won the presidency.

Thomas knows that Hamilton has kept his promise but the immigrant still writes. He still holds a quill and can cause a disaster as long as he wants, and that man has a tendency for disasters. Even if it’s simply that he gets bored sometimes and takes up a hobby of criticizing the Vice President, the articles are beautiful and well-argued, and the people want to hear his voice on every important public matter.

Thomas used to dream about breaking Hamilton’s hand. Not that he should dream about the immigrant’s hand or be drawn to it every time they shook hands. It’s small and soft. It’s probably non-stop with whatever it does, Thomas thinks. If the law doesn’t permit him to break a freeman’s hand, he can do with tying both the hands up and locking the man in Monticello. That would be a better idea.

“Washington can’t help him now. No more mister nice President,” Madison reminds Thomas. “We still got a handful of evidence that was dismissed by Washington, but Adams would be the last one to reject us now.”

Then it would be the President who wants to investigate the former Treasury Secretary. With the power of the presidency, they can do it much more thoroughly this time and Thomas doesn’t need to break his promise to Hamilton at the same time.

“ _Let’s let him know what we know_ ,” he smiles.

***

_“Mr. Vice President.”_

Aaron hates how smug he is and how he never changes over the years.

_“Mr. Madison.”_

Madison is even worse than Jefferson. He doesn’t talk much but that’s exactly why he’s more dangerous as he always hides in the dark.

_“Senator Burr.”_

He can still hear a hint of anger in Hamilton’s voice. Perhaps, Hamilton will never forgive him. After all, Hamilton is a man who doesn’t know the word forgiveness.

Honestly, it’s against Aaron’s will to come here with Jefferson and Madison. He knows better than to believe Hamilton is stupid enough to get caught being corruptive so easily. Aaron can’t even remember how many times Congress has investigated him and failed no matter how thoroughly they did. 

He’s heard of the name on the check stubs, James Reynolds. He’s here more out of curiosity. He wonders if it has something to do with that divorce case he once worked on. Madison didn’t tell him the details. He just said it would look more imposing if they got three people instead of two standing in a line when they confronted Hamilton.

_“We have the check stubs from separate accounts...”_

Hamilton has tried to hide them but they found them anyway.

_“Almost a thousand dollars paid in different amounts...”_

Aaron knows it's about a third of the Treasury Secretary’s salary and it’s not funny.

_“To a Mr. James Reynolds way back in 1791.”_

It can’t be a coincidence, but if Jefferson and Madison know about that, they should be in the district attorney's office now, instead of Hamilton’s law firm.

_“You don’t even know what you’re asking me to confess.”_

Obviously.

_“You are uniquely situated by virtue of your position—”_

“Thomas,” Hamilton interrupts him coldly, “we had an agreement.”

Then it goes silent. Madison and Aaron stare at Jefferson in disbelief. Madison looks at him as if he’s saying, ‘You made a deal again, you idiot? Without telling me this time?’ Jefferson freezes with embarrassment except his eyes shifting between the two of them, like a kid just being caught stealing candies.

“It’s not personal this time,” Jefferson replies to Hamilton, trying to defend himself. “You embezzled our government funds and you think because of our agreement I would turn a blind eye to it?” 

A look of surprise comes over Hamilton’s face. As if the check stubs in question are exactly the subject matter of their agreement. So they made an agreement to keep Jefferson quiet? It doesn’t make sense at all. If Jefferson knows about a secret that can ruin the Federalists entirely, how much does Hamilton have to trade away to keep Jefferson quiet? Hamilton traded the capital last time and does that mean he traded the whole country this time?

Then Hamilton realizes something as his jaw drops slowly. His laugh breaks the silence. “You seriously have no idea about what you’re asking me to confess, don’t you?” Hamilton can’t stop laughing and the three of them look at each other in the same confusion. “After all this, you still don’t know.”

All of a sudden, Aaron figures out the situation as well, and by the look on his face, Jefferson gets it almost at the same time. Like Aaron, Jefferson didn’t connect the check stubs with the former President’s scandal. Jefferson must have known about Washington and Hamilton somehow before, because otherwise, he couldn’t work it out so quickly.

“Know what? What are you talking about?” Madison is the only one who still has no idea about what’s going on. “Thomas?” He looks at Jefferson anxiously but Jefferson ignores him.

“I know,” he says to Hamilton, forcing his voice to be even, “but what does that have anything to do with the checks?”

“Seriously, you want me to talk about that in front of these two?” Hamilton shoots glances at Madison and Aaron. “What about our agreement that no one talks about it, huh?” Hamilton grits his teeth, staring at Jefferson.

“I...” Jefferson wouldn’t even blink before he kicks Aaron out but he certainly can’t afford to do that to Madison. Aaron still remembers how angry Madison was with Jefferson when he made the dinner deal with Hamilton without Madison’s final permission.

“I have no obligation to tell you anything at all, unless...” Hamilton’s eyes wander among them and land on Madison. It comes to Aaron that, even if Hamilton says nothing, Madison will get the answer from Jefferson because everyone in this room knows Jefferson simply can’t refuse Madison. It’d be better if Hamilton gets to tell the story by himself.

_“Unless?”_

“Unless...” Aaron can see the gears churning in Hamilton’s head and click into position. “Madison, if I tell you what you want to know and prove that that’s none of your business, would you promise not to tell another soul what you saw? And Burr, I know you’re good at keeping secrets.”

“Sure,” Aaron smiles, “ _no one else was in the room where it happened._ ” He already knows the secret Hamilton’s going to tell anyway. He chose to stay silent years ago and he won’t change that now.

He’s finally in the room where it happens this time but it makes no difference. He has never succeeded in stopping Hamilton from talking too much and he won’t succeed this time. He can protect no one. He’s still a bystander even though he’s standing in the room. But he also knows Hamilton can thrive when so few survive, and this can’t be the end for a man like Hamilton.

Hamilton will do what it takes to survive.

_“Is that a yes?”_

_“Um, yes.”_

Hamilton turns away and grabs a piece of parchment from a drawer. Aaron takes the letter from him and he realizes what Hamilton is planning to do the moment he lays his eyes on it.

_“Dear Sir,”_ Aaron begins to read,  _“I hope this letter finds you in good health and in a prosperous enough position to put wealth in the pockets of people like me: down on their luck. You see, it was my wife who you decided to—”_

_“Whaaaat—”_ Jefferson exclaims.

It comes as no surprise for Aaron to see Jefferson widen his eyes and rush to Aaron’s side, desperate to have a look at the letter himself.

As always, Hamilton is clever. He tells a story, but with a different protagonist. Hamilton once used this adapted version to misguide James Reynolds and he’s using it on Madison now, or even Jefferson, considering how surprised the Vice President looks.

“Now you know who I wrote the letter for, Jefferson,” Hamilton adds when he finishes his narrative.

“My God.” Jefferson looks like he’s begun to wonder if he’s got it all wrong from the beginning and Hamilton’s last words confirm it for him. Jefferson knew there was an affair and Hamilton has convinced him that he mistook the protagonist. Maybe it’s always been Maria Reynolds, who Hamilton had an affair with, who Hamilton paid James Reynolds and made the deal with Jefferson to keep secret, who he didn’t want to talk about in front of Madison and Aaron. Jefferson may actually buy it but Aaron knows better.

_“Gentlemen, let’s go.”_

_“So?”_

_“The people won't know what we know,”_ Jefferson answers, “I’ll still keep my promise. You keep yours. I’m sorry if I had misunderstood anything.”

_“Burr!”_ Hamilton calls, seeing Aaron’s still sitting there.

“Why are you doing this?” He stands up slowly.

“What? You three asked me to confess, so I confessed. I—” 

“Alexander,” Aaron sighs, “you think you can fool me with this? Stop lying. I know all about it. Just tell me, what agreement did you make to keep Jefferson quiet?”

“What are you talking about, Burr?” Hamilton forces a smile.

“I said stop lying!” he snaps. He can no longer hold his temper as he steps forward and grabs Hamilton’s lapels. “Did Washington tell you to make up this story?” He sees Hamilton’s facade crack and his face turn pale as he drops his eyes to avoid Aaron’s. “Was it his idea to let you take all the responsibility so that he can enjoy his retirement in Mount Vernon? Goddamn Alexander, you still have half a life ahead of you which you can do anything with. Washington has stepped down and you will be the most powerful man on this continent. Then you choose to ruin your own life just to protect Washington’s name?” He looks his old friend in the eyes and finds them so strange to him. 

How does that obnoxious, arrogant, loudmouth bother come to this? Or has he always been that stupid young fool who dreamt about dying as a martyr? 

“Does it matter?” Hamilton breaks free from his hands and takes a few steps backward, before he questions, “Burr, wouldn’t you do the same for Theodosia if her husband knew about you? I didn’t do it only for love because, without Washington, even if the country won’t fall apart, our party will. The Federalists have already been split because of Adams and it won’t survive if the people know the truth about Washington. I’ve spent my whole life defending his name even though he said he did not need it.”

“Just like his farewell address? We all know that you wrote it for him but the people will only be amazed by his eloquence. Is that what you want?” He wants to grab his old friend’s shoulders and shake him to his senses, but he knows how stubborn Hamilton is. “If you must do this,” he takes a deep breath and says, “it’s your own choice, but you have to know that, you will almost stay in his shadow in history books.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Hamilton gets uncomfortable with his suggestion as he frowns and blinks his eyes. “I’m sure Jefferson will keep my secret.”

“Alexander, rumors only grow,” he sighs. Sometimes Hamilton can really surprise him with his naivety.

“Then so be it,” Hamilton says firmly. “I’d rather stay under his shadow if that means he can be a giant in history, not just a giant in my heart.”


	9. The Election of 1800

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The election of 1800 looks like a coincidence, but it’s not.

“How did you say you found the check stubs exactly?” Thomas asks, on their way back. Now he remembers Madison didn’t say much about it. Thomas chose to trust him as he always did, and didn’t ask him about it. He’d never suspected that Madison would ever hide anything from him on purpose.

“Well, do you remember Muhlenberg once gave you a letter?” Madison thinks for a moment and says. “He told me about it after he gave it to you. He said that it was a letter Hamilton wrote to Mrs. Reynolds. I didn’t pay much attention to it because, you know, adultery isn’t a big deal, even for Hamilton, who describes himself as some kind of saint. He’s a hypocrite, yes, but our accusation will look like nothing more than silly gossip to the public.”

That’s what Thomas thought and that’s why he didn’t discuss it with Madison. He stopped digging into it after he made the deal with Hamilton but obviously, Madison didn’t. Thomas didn’t tell him to stop because he thought Madison didn’t know about it. If Madison knew, he would’ve talked with him about it. 

Why had Madison never mentioned it to him? 

He thought Madison would never hide anything from him. He trusted him, but apparently, Madison didn’t trust him back in the same way.

“Then I followed the leads and looked into Reynolds’s speculation,” Madison continues, “He just got out of prison and I managed to interview him before he disappeared in the city. He claimed that he had speculated at Hamilton’s behest. That’s how I found the check stubs and how I connected them with Hamilton’s bank accounts.”

The pieces of the puzzle have all fitted together. It confirms what Hamilton said. Washington has never been a part of this. It was just Maria, the girl Hamilton fell for, and James Reynolds, who blackmailed Hamilton, stole his letter and spread it around.

Thomas thought adultery wasn’t a big problem, but that doesn’t mean it’s the same for Hamilton. In fact, it might be quite disastrous if such an indecent letter got out and was read by the public, even if it’s just a letter written to a random whore. Hamilton wouldn’t be President either way, so he might as well use it as a bargaining chip to save his name.

He lets out a long sigh and shakes his head after a while. “Reynolds lied to you. He just needed Muhlenberg’s help to get himself out of prison.” Then, he frowns. “Have you ever suspected that it was simply an affair before you made a fool of us in front of Hamilton? Can’t you give it a check before you led us here?”

Anger boils in his belly. He knows he shouldn’t blame Madison. Blaming each other is never the answer. In the past, when they attacked Hamilton in the papers, they never fact-checked anyway. It’s not Madison’s fault. Thomas shouldn’t be angry with him.

He has been holding his temper and tried not to think about why this whole thing happened. But now, he can no longer stay calm, as he realizes he might very well lose his future presidency.

If Madison didn’t ask, Hamilton wouldn’t have to answer and they could remain in ignorance. Now even Burr knows about it, and what did Hamilton say? He said that he would rather vote for Burr if his affair went public. 

If he were Burr, he would go to a newspaper and publish it right away.

“Sorry, Thomas,” Madison says quietly. “That’s my fault. I should’ve told you about it first.”

Madison looks at him pitifully. But sorry is not enough this time. Thomas narrows his eyes and glares at his friend, considering whether he should tell him about the deal to let him know how  _sorry,_ exactly, he should be.

After a while, he gives up. Madison has always been his weakness, and honestly? There’s nothing he can do to him. He lets out a sigh, turns away and walks on.

“Thomas, wait.” The shame in Madison’s voice now disappears and the man behind him runs a few steps to catch up. “You don’t really believe what he said, do you?” 

They’ve arrived at Thomas’s house and Madison grabs his arm to stop him when he reaches out to open the door.

“Stop, James.” He shakes Madison’s hand off him and unlocks the door to walk in. He feels so tired all of a sudden as he steps into his sweetest home. He has no interest in starting an argument with Madison. “What’s done is done. Hamilton has shown to you how he led another woman to his marriage bed. You’re still not satisfied?” 

He slumps into the couch as soon as he enters the living room. God, he’s so tired and his head hurts.

“Can’t you see it’s a cover-up for his corruption?” Madison asks as he follows behind him. He stops in front of the couch and crosses his arms. “It doesn’t make sense. He said he was still seeing the girl even though he had already known for sure Maria was using him. I’ve heard Hamilton is the kind of man who can be easily led by his cock, but Hamilton is not an idiot. That is Hamilton, for God’s sake. That man has fooled us around for eight years and he was defeated by a whore? Does that mean we’ve lost to a whore?”

“You need to calm down, James,” he rubs his eyes and says. “You know that kind of thing happens all the time. I’ve done such things myself. Does that make you think I’m an idiot? Hamilton just didn’t expect it would come to this.”

That’s what he says to Madison, but inside, he knows Madison has a point. Hamilton isn’t a love-struck fool. Hamilton knows how to use his charm to get what he wants. Thomas will never forget how the immigrant lured him into a dinner where they struck that notorious deal, and it was around the time Hamilton claimed he fell in love with Maria. More importantly, like Madison said, does that mean Thomas Jefferson has lost to a whore? Thomas never expects Hamilton to fall in love with him, magically, one day, but losing to a whore is far too humiliating.

That is not what happened. He will not allow that to happen.

“Even if what he said about his whore is true,” Madison argues, “he might be speculating and having an affair at the same time. We should recheck the cash flow of Reynolds’ speculation. There must be something connected with Hamilton... Are you still with him, Thomas?” 

He loses track of Madison’s rant as a sudden realization hits him. He didn’t even notice he’s stood up and started pacing slowly around the room.

What if Hamilton  _did_ have an illicit relationship with Washington?

Madison’s words enlighten him. Hamilton was probably having an improper relationship with Washington and being blackmailed at the same time. 

That’s possible. It could also make sense. Reynolds did get hold of the letter once but it isn’t necessarily meant for his wife. Reynolds didn’t get to know the truth behind the letter but it didn’t matter to him.

That made it convenient for Hamilton to mix these two incidents together so he could confuse them. That’s clever. Hamilton turned what Thomas knew to his own advantage and made himself look like the victim in both crimes.

“As I was saying, what we believe doesn’t matter.” Madison is still rattling on but it’s just background noises to him now. “What matters is that we can still accuse him of corruption in the papers. The people will believe like they always did. Hamilton will have to come forward and prove himself by telling the truth, though it won’t be quite possible...”

He should’ve held on to what he saw with his own eyes. The letter he read could never be written for a girl a man had just met for several days or even months. No. It was written for someone the writer had known for decades. It was written for someone the writer had gone through a lot with. The countless bits and pieces of memories they shared together in the early years were filled with hardship as well as happiness. It couldn’t be a romanticized fantasy a man wrote to please his girl. The memories were too vivid to be made up. The love between the lines was too deep to be fabricated. 

He had already known it was Washington back then but he was too obsessed with his own feelings to think further about it.

Now it’s not just possible. It’s the only explanation for all of this.

So, that’s why Washington took part in the deal they made to destroy copies of Hamilton’s letter. 

That’s why Washington fell silent when Thomas gave him that copy of the letter, kept it and never spoke of it again.

That’s why...

“Thomas!” Madison brings him back to the present. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry, I just need a minute. I need some fresh air.” The room suddenly feels so small and suffocating. He strides over to the door. He wants to escape the room as if in this way, he can escape the horrible truth he’s just found out.

“What about what I’ve said? Do you agree with it?” Madison calls out behind him.

“Do whatever you like, James,” he shouts as he runs down the stairs. God, just keep the man quiet and away from him. He would say anything to please him. Just, leave him alone.

He needs to breathe. 

***   


It’s late in the night. He pads upstairs to their bedroom, trying not to wake the kids up.

“Eliza?” he calls her name quietly by her bed.

“Hmm?” she answers, still half asleep.

“There’s something I need to talk about with you,” Alexander says.

Eliza is probably the only person he could discuss this with. George has gone back to Virginia since Eliza came back from Albany at the end of the summer. He sent a letter when they first started talking about Alexander complicit with Reynolds in speculation. They said they had somehow heard of an explanation for the check stubs, but they insisted it was a cover-up. They urged his confession every day in the papers. 

He doesn’t know if Eliza has read about Maria Reynolds from the papers and what’s her reaction to it. She’s never asked him about it.

George had read the papers and all he did was urge Alexander to stay calm. Don’t be infuriated by those who want nothing but to irritate you. Don’t let them make you into one of us, he said. Just be the boy I met all those years ago who was never afraid of anything, whether it was bombs or words.

He didn’t ask why Alexander paid Reynolds a thousand dollars or if he had actually had an affair with Maria. Instead, he just asked him to trust him and said that everything would be perfectly fine. If Alexander stayed silent and refused to comment, it would all go away one day. Jefferson would be President and they would have no reason to keep pestering him.

He also didn’t say that if they kept digging, they might find some evidence that could lead them to George. Both George and he participated in intelligence during the war and they knew how to be discreet, but they also knew no intelligence could never be leaked. No secret was absolutely safe.

George just told Alexander not to worry about him and not do anything stupid. And he loved him.

Old man sounded just like he was during the war.

_My name’s been through a lot. I can take it._

No, you can’t. I can’t take it. Our country can’t take it. How can someone as smart as you never get it?

What he knows is that, he can’t just sit here, wait and see when Madison will find the last piece of the puzzle and destroy all his legacy.

Jefferson already knows, of course. He knows Maria is not the secret Alexander made the deal for, because otherwise, Jefferson wouldn’t start this whisper campaign. He wouldn’t give up his chance to be President just to show the public the former Treasury Secretary slept with a whore years ago. The accusation of speculation is baseless and Alexander knows it must be Madison’s handiwork.

Jefferson came to see him one day and swore it wasn’t his idea to ask the papers to write about Maria. Madison started it. Jefferson didn’t know what had happened until he read the papers the next morning. 

He couldn’t get those hounds sent by Madison to stop chasing Alexander, just like Alexander couldn’t force the Federalists to turn against John Adams in 1896. If Jefferson told Madison about the deal, it might help to stop him from publishing more accusations, but it also meant Jefferson had to explain why the deal still stood after they told the press about Maria.

Alexander didn’t trust Madison enough to tell him the real story, and neither did Jefferson think Madison wouldn’t go to a publisher directly when he heard the truth. Jefferson told him, even if he could become President without Alexander’s help by telling the public the truth, destroying the prestige of the Federalists entirely, he didn’t want to be a president whose country is in chaos. It was not his best hope if it had to come to that. But he couldn’t vouch for Madison that he would do the same.

Madison is unpredictable.

Alexander needs to stop him and the other hounds before it’s too late. And the only way to stop that man is to give him what he wants, which means the ruin of Alexander’s career life.

“Can’t we talk about it next morning?” Eliza mumbles sleepily, startling Alexander back to reality. She made such a long pause that it almost made Alexander believe that she had fallen back to sleep.

“Of course, Betsy. Sorry that I forgot the time.” He tries to smile and then realizes Eliza can’t see his face in the dark.

He wonders if Eliza can hear his heart hammering in the silence.

The pamphlet he’s just finished is lying on his desk. He will send it to the publisher in the morning. That will stop the gossip and satisfy Madison by ruining his own life at the same time.

He knows how much it must hurt for Eliza and the children to see the pamphlets in the streets. He should ask Eliza first before he publishes it, but he knows once he asks, he’ll never find his courage back to do what’s right to do.

Eliza looks amazing in the moonlight and in that blue night skirt he likes best. There are wrinkles around her eyes after decades of dedication to this family but it doesn’t change the fact she’s still the girl he met at the corner of the ballroom, flushing and smiling shyly at him.

She doesn’t deserve what he’s going to do to her but he doesn’t have a choice now. 

It’s already been too late.

He leans over to press a kiss on her lips.

“Good night,” he says, seeing Eliza smile in her dream.

“Good night, honey.”

***   


1804.

He should get going. He should leave while it’s still dark before dawn.

There’s no reason for him to stay any longer. He said goodbye to the children after he had made sure they were properly covered by the blankets and blown out the candles in their bedrooms, and he put his last words to Eliza in the file that is labeled as ‘Wills’.

There’s nothing he should worry about. Burr is a friend he’s known for a lifetime. He knows he’s a good man no matter what he appears to be. They will throw away their shots and pat on each other’s shoulder before they row back to New York together. 

They’ve grown apart since Burr took the Senate seat from Philip, but what really changed their relationship was the day when Burr came with Jefferson and Madison to accuse him of embezzlement. 

He knows Burr hasn’t forgiven George since George hired Alexander instead of Burr, even though it feels like centuries ago. George seldom made personal enemies, but Burr, somehow, was one of them.

George knew Burr was one of his friends so, to avoid being awkward, they rarely talked about the man. It’s just Alexander heard from others in the camp that the General disliked the lieutenant colonel because he thought he was sneaky and, lascivious? God knows Alexander wasn’t much better than Burr when he was twenty years old.

Well, Burr said Alexander had half a life ahead of him and he was right. They should put an end to this. George has been gone for five years now and he should turn the page. They both should. All the problems have been settled and he’s fulfilled Jefferson’s dream of the presidency as he promised. Now that it’s over, they could probably become best friends again.

A duel has always been a good way for him to solve problems.  _Most disputes die and no one shoots._ They will apologize to each other and shake hands. They will find a bar and have a drink, and joke about how silly they were when they chose to fight a duel. They will move on and put their past behind them. 

Among the friends he made when he first arrived in this country, Burr is probably the only one he still keeps in touch with. He exchanges letters with Lafayette across the ocean, but he meets Burr regularly at dinners in New York and Philadelphia. It’s just that it can be tough for men like Burr and Alexander to communicate with each other, who are both too proud to express their apologies with words.

So, there’s nothing he should worry about. Burr is a terrible shot. Everything will be fine, except it’s not the first time he’s considered ending his life since George’s death.  _No,_ George said to him,  _you still have a family to support. I’ll be watching from the other side, seeing you surrounded by grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Only then will I meet you in heaven._

One thing is for sure: he’s not going to die today.

He blows out the candle, walks downstairs and grabs his coat. He opens the door and takes one last look at the quiet, sweet house, which has given him so many happy memories and wonderful hopes. 

The children are sleeping soundly upstairs, and Eliza must have gone back to bed.

He closes the door.

***

Aaron wishes he can tell what is happening in Hamilton’s brain.

The election of 1800 looks like a coincidence, but it’s not.

Aaron ran as Jefferson’s running mate and brought him the votes in New York. They won in a landslide but it was a landslide for them both. It’s a tie and it’s up to the House of Representatives, which is in the hands of the Federalists.

The Federalists would vote for Aaron, of course. They lost the election but then they found themselves in a perfect situation that perhaps, they could have a Federalist president in the end, if they struck a deal with Aaron.

And Aaron? He was more than ready to discuss the details of the deal with them. 

_I learned that from you, Alexander._

Hamilton would endorse Aaron, of course. Aaron was his friend and Jefferson was his enemy. It was easy. It sounds a little like nepotism, but who cares? 

Jefferson had almost given up. It was said that the Democratic-Republicans were preparing to march to the capital and seize the government if Jefferson didn’t become President.

Meanwhile, Aaron was confidently and excitedly waiting for Hamilton to declare his support for him.

Aaron had convinced every Federalist that it was in their best interest to vote for Aaron.

Aaron had convinced everyone that the tie was just a coincidence and he had never sought the presidency.

He convinced everyone except for Hamilton.

That arrogant immigrant, orphan, bastard, whoreson, who he considered as a friend for more than two decades, saw through him and told everyone that he was a liar. That he had no beliefs.

He betrayed him.

The world collapsed around him. 

It must be a mistake. That can’t be true. Hamilton would never endorse Jefferson.

Somehow, Hamilton knew from the beginning that it was his scheme to run as Jefferson’s running mate. To get the votes in New York for the Democratic-Republicans. To call on the constituency to vote for Jefferson and Aaron at the same time. But he wrongly assumed that the deal was a trap for the Federalists.

It’s almost dawn when they arrive in Weehawken. It’s a cool summer morning. A light breeze is blowing from the river. The smell of grass is in the air. The weather is perfect for camping, if they’re not here to die. Even if they’re here to die, it’s the best weather one can imagine.

Aaron watches Hamilton examine the terrain and wishes he can tell what is happening in Hamilton’s brain.

Why? Why did you do this to me? Why did you have to endorse Jefferson instead of me?

“Are you serious? Do you really want to kill me or what?” Aaron says to Hamilton, loudly enough to get his attention across the field.

Hamilton glances up at him and stays silent. As if it’s a question not worth answering.

Perhaps, nearly thirty years of friendship is also worth nothing to Hamilton. It’s just in Aron’s imagination.

“Please. Just talk to me. I don’t want to kill you or to be a murderer. I challenge you to a duel because I want to know why you chose Jefferson over me. Just give me a reason and this will all be over,” he’s almost begging.

He’s gone soft every time he sees Hamilton and he thinks he can never be truly angry with the man.

He doesn’t know what happened between Hamilton and Jefferson. He knows Jefferson has feelings for Hamilton but there is no hope for him. From what Aaron knows of Hamilton, Jefferson is definitely not his type and not to mention, they are political enemies and they hold opposed beliefs. Aaron would rather believe that Jefferson voted for Hamilton if they switched positions than that Hamilton voted for Jefferson, a man he had despised since the beginning.

“I thought you knew that.” Hamilton sighs. “I said—” 

“I knew what you said. That I don’t have beliefs. That’s bullshit. We’ve known each other for decades and is that what you think of me?”

“Well,” Hamilton answers and tilts his head to the side, “if what you want is the real reason I endorsed Jefferson, I’m afraid I can’t tell you. You’re really gonna kill me after you hear the truth,” he chuckles, as if this is a joke. It’s not a joke, Aaron thinks bitterly. “For the record, I didn’t actually  _choose_ Jefferson. That wasn’t much of a choice for me.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Aaron stares at the man, confused. 

Hamilton just waves his hand to drop the topic. “Why do you have to know that? Whatever the reason, it doesn’t change the fact that you lost the election. You lost because you shouldn’t have won in the first place. Accept that.”

“But I could have won if it were not for you.” He grits his teeth. Why Hamilton is talking about the presidency as if it’s nothing?

“Jesus, Burr. Stop obsessing with it. Why can’t we just move on? We can still be friends.” Hamilton holds out his hand to Aaron. Aaron ignores it and turns his face away. “Fine,” he continues after an awkward pause, “I know there are a lot of things that you might hold against me but if it’s because of Washington, he’s been dead for five years and there’s no reason that you should still hold any grudges against him.”

“You think this is about the former President?” Aaron frowns and widens his eyes. “Why would you think I hold grudges against him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because he refused to hire you as his secretary?”

“That was decades ago. Jesus! I don’t even remember it if you haven’t mentioned it.”

“That’s what I thought,” Hamilton murmurs quietly as if he’s talking to himself.

Then he finally runs out of patience. “I don’t hate him, Alexander!” he snaps. “I’m jealous of him.” 

He’s loud but there isn’t anybody alive in miles and he doesn’t care who may hear him. Their seconds and the doctor have all agreed to keep quiet about whatever happened here today.

“What?” Hamilton asks, totally stunned.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know I liked you!” he says viciously. “You always knew that. You just take it for granted that everyone would fall under your spell.”

“I know,” Hamilton shakes his head in disbelief, “but I just thought you were not serious about that. If you liked me, why would you change parties and stand with my enemies?”

“Because I did that for you, Alexander!” he snarls. “I worked for Jefferson to gain his trust, and I ran in the election and I designed this whole scheme. For you! All for you! Why couldn’t I wait another four years? Why couldn’t I settle for Vice President?”

“Why did you?” Hamilton repeats dumbly.

“Because I had to be President, for you! I did all this for you and all you needed to do was say nothing. The Federalists would vote for me. Then you’ll have everything you want. You’ve been ruined after the Reynolds Pamphlet. You need power and you need someone to back you up to get back to politics. You’ll need a president.”

“I...” Hamilton is still staring at him like a deer in the forest, unsure of what to say.

“Washington is gone and John Adams, he can never see the greatness in you. Jefferson may be nicer to you but he can’t give what I can give you.” He swallows to slow down. “I want to do what Washington did for you.” 

That’s it. He finally says it.

“Wait,” Hamilton says after he’s finally got over the shock, still confused. “You don’t think I repaid Washington’s political support by coupling with him, do you?”

“I...” Aaron bites his lip, tempted by the suggestion. “I expect nothing in return. I just want to do something for you. I want the appreciation that you held for him. I... I want to be him, for you.”

“But you can never be him, you know. Nobody can,” Hamilton says quietly.

They fall into silence.

Yes, he’s nothing compared with Washington.

Hamilton has never taken notice of his care for him, what he’s done to Aaron and what Aaron has done for him. That’s because all he cares about is Washington. All he can see is Washington. 

He is not a liar. He’s just not Washington.

Hamilton has made him look like a fool. 

All of this is because of Hamilton. Hamilton got him falling in love with him and coaxed him into this humiliating situation. Hamilton got him hatching up this crazy plan and then he just ruined it. Hamilton enslaved him with his charm and then he kicked him out because he just didn’t care. Hamilton gave him a meaning of life after Theodosia died and it turned out to be a script for a farce.

And yes, he used to love him, but now, there’s only hate.

“Right,” he says, trying to act normal to hide a newly formed idea in his head, “I see that now. I could’ve told you my plan ahead of time but I thought it was enough to strike a deal with the other Federalists. I thought you would know my true intention.”

Hamilton sighs. “Even if I knew, Burr, I had no choice. I told you.” He stares at him with wide eyes as if he should’ve understood something, but he doesn’t. Then, seeing how confused he still is, Hamilton gives up. “Fine, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just...” He trails off. Then his shoulders slump and he drops his eyes. “You once asked me what agreement I made to keep Jefferson quiet. Now you know,” he says with his eyes kept on the ground.

Oh. That’s what Hamilton has been avoiding earlier. How has Aaron never thought of that? Of all the things Jefferson might desire, the presidency is the only thing better than the end of Hamilton’s career life.

“Jefferson knew it,” Hamilton continues. “I tried to convince him otherwise but it didn’t work out. George—” 

“That’s George now, huh?” Aaron interjects sourly.

“Burr, he’s already dead. You don’t get to be jealous of a dead man. And, he deserves to rest in peace. I can’t let them talk about him like that after his death. I have to keep my promise to Jefferson.”

So it’s still about Washington. It’s always been about Washington. Even after the man died.

That newly formed idea has become a decision. 

He is going to kill Hamilton in this duel.

“I’m sorry, Burr,” his old friend says.

Is that his confession before Aaron kills him?

Does he aim his pistol at the sky because he thinks he deserves to die?

Or maybe he just feels sorry for Aaron, that life is a bitch and sometimes it simply doesn’t go the way you want? That you can’t control who lives, who dies, and who gets to be the winner?

Aaron doesn’t know, and he may never know that.

He wishes he can tell what was happening in Hamilton’s brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe I've finished this! It's taken much longer than I expected when I started. This is my favorite story and I've got a lot of fun rewriting it. Again, thank you for your support and tell me what you think of my work!

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you like my work! I’d really appreciate your comments or kudos.


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